My friend Esther tagged me with 6 Quirky Things About Me. While I typically don't participate in the whole tagging thing, I decided to give this one a shot, but in my own way. I won't be tagging anybody else (mostly because there is no one left to tag) and I'll deliver one quirk per post. I can't seem to handle doing all six at once, which is due to another quirk of mine that I won't get into now. So I guess if you care just how screwed up I am, you'll have to check back another FIVE TIMES to get the rest.
My husband works nights and is often gone for work or school. I've become accustomed to being alone and even revel in it because I can watch, read, or do whatever I want without disturbing or being disturbed (mostly I just blare my music and dance around our small space like a gypsy). While I enjoy the freedom of being a single wife, it does have it's downfalls, one of which being that every now and then my imagination punches into overdrive and I effectively freak myself out for NO REASON. My most common mind-induced freak-out occurs when I come home after dark and try to unlock my front door. Having not been home, there are never any lights on. You'd think I'd learn to leave an outside light on before leaving, but I just can't bring myself to willingly turn on a porch light in the middle of the day. I'd worry that my mom would pass by and see how irresponsible and wasteful I was being. Then she'd feel like a failure as a mother. Not wanting to be responsible for doing that to her, I walk alone in the dark to my door. It's about this time that my imagination kicks in and my perfectly safe yard in my perfectly safe neighborhood turns into a dark alley in the city with rapists and murderers lurking in the shadows, waiting for me. Subsequently I walk a little faster and breath a little harder. My mind fills with horrible images of scary men as I fumble with my keys, trying to unlock my stupid door! CURSES! Why did I lock the door? I locked it to keep the scary men out while I was away and now they're gonna get me anyway because I'M SHAKING SO BAD THAT I CAN'T GET MY KEY IN THE LOCK! It takes about another, oh . . . um, 0.5 seconds for my freak-out level to jump off the charts and all I can think is MUST. GET. INSIDE. My rational at that moment is all I need to do is close the door behind me and I'll be safe. It never occurs to me that if there really was a rapist outside my house he'd probably wait until I was inside anyway before inviting himself in and having his way with me. The key finally slips in the lock, I turn the handle and burst inside. I slam the door back shut, turn the dead bolt, flip on every light in the house and then try to compose myself. Everything is ok now. You're inside, the lights are on, the door is locked and you're really just suffering from an over-active imagination. Turn on some tunes, eat some ice cream and calm down. So I take my advice.
Then I go and retrieve my keys from the outside lock.