I’ve always admitted how extremely eccentric I am. I actually cross from irrational to ridiculous very often. I lock the doors, and then recheck to make sure they’re locked. I take a walk or three around the house, making sure things are ok. I flinch at every nighttime noise I hear, and I make sure my watchdog Zoey is there to ward off anything. That’s as long as they don’t see her. There is nothing less intimidating than a  10 lb. Maltese.

I don’t become fully aware of my paranoia until I’m alone. While my husband was in Liverpool working, I went along with him. When he was out at work and I was left in the hotel by myself, I sat around and eyed the room. I knew exactly where there was something I could use to defend myself if I needed to. I focused on it enough that if I closed my eyes, I would be able to remember where everything I needed  without looking. I realized that I am extraordinarily paranoid and aware.

I’ll admit there’s something embarrassing about admitting this. I don’t care so much though; most people won’t know me well enough to judge and the ones who do won’t be shocked. That’s the beautiful thing about writing though: you can talk about whatever crosses your mind and you don’t have to care.

I also acknowledge that aside from how crazy this makes me look, I know that I have enough awareness of my surroundings to be as safe as possible. I’ll never allow myself to feel entirely safe. I don’t live in an area that’s even remotely dangerous, so the idea that I go through all these measures seems silly. Maybe it’s because of all the crime shows I watch, but I realize that no matter where you live you’re never really entirely safe. I’m not sure if that makes me overly paranoid or just ready. I’ll just say I’m “overly prepared”.

So bring on that zombie apocalypse. I’m ready for you… or a robber. But somehow a zombie apocalypse sounds much cooler.