DrH is away on a business trip at the moment so I´m spending a lot of time talking to the dog and checking that I´ve double locked the doors. What is it with insecurity and getting older? At Uni my housemates and I wouldn´t even SHUT the back door and many were the times that we woke up to find acquaintances having breakfast and watching cartoons in the lounge room, having just walked in and made themselves at home. And did it bother us or cause one moment less sleep? Not at all.
But now I´m back to having lived with someone full time for the last 18 months and not having him here is... disturbing somehow. The dog barked in his sleep last night and I was immediately up and checking every room and cupboard. It really is ridiculous.
I´m blaming CSI, NCIS, RIS and every other television show for convincing me that a serial killer is only moments from my door and I will die in some horribly bloody, undoubtedly painful, and highly inventive way and the forensic teams will be sifting through the minutiae of my existence to catch my killer. That the intricacies of my life will be splashed across a police incident room somewhere, complete with photos and scaled sketches and all this paranoia of mine at least has the advantage that I make sure the porn is put away neatly these days.
So all this mental anguish that I´m undergoing is a direct result of DrH´s current business trip. To Portugal. Flying via Mallorca. And I´m thinking my little one person company here does not have anywhere near enough perks.