Saturday, January 19, 2008

Home Alone

I'm sitting at my desk right now with a long sharp kitchen knife next to my keyboard. You know, just in case I need to stab somebody in self-defense. I'm having another episode of paranoia (I hope) that there is someone watching me and waiting for the opportunity to sneak into my house and do horrible things to me or my children. Did I mention that my husband is out of town? My potential murderer knows that already, because he stakes out my house and watches my every move. He keeps track of when Dario's car is gone for an extended period of time so he can terrorize me then, and only then. He watches me through the windows after my kids go to bed too. I'd close the blinds but then the neighbors won't have an opportunity to be potential witnesses and possible lifesavers when this guy decides to attack me, right? So what's a girl to do when the house is dark and quiet and then she hears a thumping from somewhere (WHERE?) in the house that she knows she's not imagining because her dog heard it too, as evidenced by his ear perk and turned head? I'll tell you. She walks around the entire house with the best stabbing knife she can find, making sure doors and windows are locked and checking closets and undersides of beds. That's what she does. Then, with knife in hand, standing in the furthest corner of the kitchen so she can monitor all the entrypoints, she calls her absent husband half a country away to tell him she's potentially going to be murdered tonight, and midway through describing her ordeal, he starts laughing at some practical joke he played on his co-worker and tells her to hold on a minute, at which points she gets seriously frustrated and says, "I'm going to be murdered any minute. Sure, I'll hold on." and hangs up and then comes upstairs to blog. Because gosh darn it, someone needs to hear what may potentially be my last words. So these are it. My last words, I mean. Potentially. If I'm murdered tonight.

If not..... then I'll see you all here tomorrow.

Okay, the phone thing didn't happen exactly like that. There's no way I'd just hang up and let my husband slide that easily. I gave him a serious guilt trip and then he apologized and comforted me a little. Which did not make up for the callous laughing while I was in (potentially) serious peril, but whatever. He'll have enough guilt when I'm murdered.

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