Every once in a while, I find myself searching the surroundings of my home for the nearest weapon.
This paranoia inspired behavior is usually prompted by a strange noise in my apartment - a bump, a creek, a shuffle that is unfamiliar to me.
Typically, I only grow concerned just as a I turn off all the lights and head to my bed for the night. Sometimes I awake to a faint fear that someone else is in my house.
I know the drill. In my bedroom, I have an alarm clock and an old fashioned typewriter still in its box. In a crisis, I would throw these at someone.
In the kitchen - I have a variety of sharp, long knives at my disposal. In my nightmare fantasy, I am invincible against my invader, and he is unable to grab my knives and hurt me.
The bathroom contains the strangest defense plan - a wrench, a screwdriver and a heavy can of bug spray. The aerosol can sits atop the copy of the Warren Commission report I keep in my bathroom for random reading - right next to the toilet paper dispenser. Should someone ever choose to attack me while I'm indisposed, I would grab the can of Raid, spray, and then fly off the handle with my wrench and screwdriver.
The living room fails to have its own plan of attack. I suppose I assume this space is too messy to accommodate a madman. I imagine if someone broke in to my apartment, they'd discover a scene of clothes, shoes and bags strewn about and would deduce the place had already been hit by someone else.
I know this whole thing is a bit neurotic.
Who plans or worries about someone breaking in to their home while they're in bed? I think this occasional concern only exists because I am a female living alone.
I do not have a protector. I do not live with someone else who is assigned to the duty of investigating when things go bump in the night. I do not have someone to cling to when I grow scared in my own home.
Most of the time, I'm able to talk myself down from the figurative ledge of fear - insisting the occasional panic is all in my head. After all, if someone really wanted to break in to a home, surely they'd pick something far more high rent than my little apartment. Right?
But then I'm reminded of last summer's run-in with the peeping tom.
I guess a single woman is appealing to someone with unsavory intentions.
Watch out, bitches.
I have a can of Raid, and I know how to use it.
Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.