I should be adding a considerable number of words to book four of The Relative Series. I should be tuning out the world and listening to the voices in my head that help me create my stories. But I am still distracted by any sounds outside my house that should be familiar sounds in my logical brain, but are still slightly menacing sounds in my overactive, imaginative brain. Conjuring up scenarios about serial killers and their potentially heinous crimes is not going to help me sleep while I am on high alert for any noises that make me think the intruder has returned.
Although the person who tried to gain unlawful access to my home last week was unsuccessful, I still feel the overwhelming anger of having my freedom violated. Since last Thursday, I have installed security cameras outside my home and will be installing motion-sensing lights to thwart any further break-in attempts. Having lived in my house for the past twenty-one years without incident, being forced to implement these new security measures is disconcerting, to say the least.
I live in a small town. I faithfully lock the doors and windows in my home, and I lock my car doors when I return home from work. I have a pact with my neighbors, and if they hear the panic alarm on my car and it doesn’t shut off immediately, that means I need help. But I never thought that back-up plan would become necessary to being the front line of my defense.
The extreme feeling of distrust in humanity will eventually wane, I hope. The serenity I felt living in my tiny home will return, I hope. And the melodramatic perception that I am under surveillance at all times will soon be a distant memory, I hope.
I am willing my logical brain to win the battle of what-ifs, but for now, I will heed to the paranoia of my overactive, imaginative brain and err on the side of overly suspicious caution.