Are we confident it’s not ‘kimono’?

With the newf just a few short hours away from his first visit to Las Vegas and his second ever trip to the United States (innie precious?), I have the house all to myself for the next few days which happens just about every other never. This might be the third time in as many years that I’ve ever had a bachelor pad if a bachelor pad were to be dropped off in the middle of suburbia. Which I suppose would work for a very cougar-focused bachelor.

The last time this happened, I let you in on the theme days that I use to fill my time. This round, I feel like I should be a little more honest about the mental state I sink into when he’s gone. During the day, sure–I’m making my own fun with the carefree attitude of my former, happily unemployed self without the obviously dire financial consequences. But at sundown, Dr. Jekyll turns into Mr. Paranoid Recluse With No Sign Of Rational Thought.

I don’t know what it is about being alone in this house that makes me believe that all things evil, gruesome, and inconvenient are suddenly going to turn their focus onto me. It’s like at any given point I feel I’m going to live out the entire Panic Room movie while also being stalked by komodo dragons and losing the keys to the panic room door.

Quick interjection: Guys – have you seen that earth life ocean planet blue documentary narrated by Sigourney Freeman Oprah Morgan Weavrey? ‘Cause I sure did. I thought I would learn something cool about the komodo dragons (which up until 45 seconds ago I was convinced were actually named kimono dragons…like, to the point that I was all, ‘seriously, spellcheck? As if I don’t know how to spell kimono. Please…’) and suddenly one is stalking a jungle cow or water horse or something that he’s infected with a single bite and is now destined to die slowly over the course of several weeks.

BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE. The blood or decay or venom or something can be smelled by all kimono dragons (my way’s better) in the area so not only does this poor tropical take on a farm animal have to slowly die IN HD…it has to do so while accumulating an audience of twelve freaking mini dinosaurs standing around like they’re waiting for the kettle to boil. Jurassic Park gets all up in the donkey’s business as the poor thing is flailing about, probably chatting about how Gordon Ramsey would never let this take so long on Hell’s Kitchen.

C’mon, Migournah… was that really a necessary ‘did you know’ fact that just had to be shared with the people? ‘Cause it’s going to take more than an eighties starswipe for me to shake off THAT knowledge.

Okay. Back on track. One crazy at a time, Benjamin.

(We’ll get to my newly developed conversations with myself some other time.)

So, as the newf leaves and the inevitable fear of imaginary death by dragon takes hold, I do what any other well-adjusted scared person would: I find the most isolated corner of the house and sit there with all the lights off until I can’t keep my eyes open. At that point, I make a desperate sprint to the bedroom that only becomes an adequately safe stronghold once I reach a certain level of exhaustion. But until then…I essentially hide in the dark and wonder why I’m so afraid.

If nothing else it’s more energy efficient than the newf’s version. He Home-Alones the shit out of the place until I get home with every light and appliance running at full blast. Because clearly intruders stop to think about not wanting to interrupt your household chores when choosing whether or not to make couture accessories out of your skin.

Now before you even start, yes – there are a few obvious flaws in my plan too. Most notably the sheer panic caused by my reaction to fear. Sitting in the dark in spaces that I rarely ever use like the guest bathroom, the newf’s unused office, and the furnace room is not very likely to calm me down. Second, my unshakably detailed knowledge of the kimono dragon’s (I’m committed) creepy patience and moochy friends doesn’t disappear when the lights go out. But despite the system’s flaws, nothing trumps the power I get out of the delusional notion that sitting in a dark corner of the house will allow me to…waitforit…get the jump on intruders.

I mean, what?!? What exactly am I going to do to a burglar, rapist, kimono dragon, or the ghost of Dr. Robert C. Atkins, creator of the no-carb diet, if one were to invade the home? Kill them with planet earth trivia and Sigourney Freeman impressions? Tweet for help? Hope the dachshunds turn out to be shapeshifting warriors sent to earth to protect me, overlooking how weird it would be knowing that they’ve sniffed me in weird places while I slept?

The answer? Is yes, yes, and a hesitant yes.

See you next week. Hopefully.