Facts of Life

I can't ever have kids. Ever.

Background: as I've frothed at the blog about, I have shiny new car. Said shiny new car has a car alarm.

Said shiny new car is also garaged under my bedroom.

Every time I hear something that might be a car alarm, I jump up and reach for something that inflicts pain on others, then move for the door.

This morning, I forced myself (psychically kicking-and-screaming) to ride my bike to work. As I was getting ready to head out, a car alarm chirped. Might have been mine. Might not. Dunno. I grabbed something appropriately heavy and nasty from my various implements of anti-social in my apartment and methodically went through the parking garage like a psychotic madman to hunt down anyone or anything that might be a potential threat to my precious.

Seriously. I was in my bike gear, including my gloves. My gloves have carbon fiber knuckle plating for pain-delivery (not including the nasty club I was carrying). And I spent all of my class last night polishing my punch delivery.

I didn't see anyone in my garage. Might have been from a neighbor. Doesn't matter.

My paranoia is in full swing.

And this is for a car.

If I had kids, I can only imagine how batshit crazy overprotective I'd be.

Must... take... pills...