Fantasies of burglary and dreams that are fantasy...

I really wish my subconscious would stop taking over and trying to fix things for me whilst I slumber.

Lately, I don't dream of running naked through dead flowers and desperate bees looking for their fix.

No, I dream of:

A conversation with hub, who convinces me I have another RAT on my computer (dream), and that's why my Imaging program won't save the patient information sent to me in e-mail (real life). In the dream, I physically watched him locate the RAT. In actuality, the computer ran ragged so I set it up for a special reboot and hadn't even logged back in.

Finding an address for Dr. So-and-so that I absolutely could not find on Google, in my Little Blue Book, or in the good company data base (real life). I found it, with the 10-syllable first name, on Yahoo addresses (dream). I knew, however, in my dream that I forgot to check there (real life).

How I typed a file for the 5th and knew I typed it (real life). It disappeared and I forgot to send it, so I redid it (dream). I hate those dreams.

The fact that I'm diuresing much as of late (real life). I ran to the toilet (dream). It felt good to go (dream). I did wake up before I wet the bed (real life) and hauled ass to the toilet (real life) and narrowly missed a very horrendous accident (real life).

The meeting that took place at the center, where Ovis Ovis gave up his majority shares and allowed the hospital to take over, and I no longer had to type for them (very good, but a dream). Seriously, I had no panic over this (real life or in the dream).

The food in my freezer (real life). It's easy to prepare (real life). It's cooking (dream). I wake up, it's not cooked, but the kids are gone anywhere and it's just hub and me (real life). We have sandwiches (real life).

I hate living my life in my dream world, too. Obviously, I'm working out some things while I'm sleeping, but I sleep to get away from all that shit! Give me Josh Holloway and my grenade launcher back, please! Did you know he looks awesomely sexy with bandoliers crisscrossing his awesome chest? Of course, I look completely sassy in my goth chick jungle wear...

Fantasy break over...

Hub reads of crime waves in our locality all the time. I think he's going to set up the police radio thingy again. He wants another dog.

Okay. He doesn't like our big dog because he scares people if he gets loose, but he thinks the dog is inappropriate because he doesn't bark in the house.

I don't think he understands, but he will. I have the world's most perfect dog. He doesn't raid the trash. He doesn't think the house is his and his alone. I can understand wanting a dog who's just a little assertive with anyone approaching the house and letting us know about it, but he's going to find out what a gem my 100-pound gentle giant really is when there's another dog in the house. It can't be a terrier; we have too many animals. It has to be able to hold its own against the cat, to whom the big dog has capitulated ownership of the house. Outside, on a thick chain and behind a privacy fence, my dog's bark makes people cross the street. When I walk him, people see us a block away and cross the street. I think if anyone is casing our joint, they know about the big dog. He lets anyone and everyone know (if he's outside) that he knows someone's there and he's watching you, dammit. He also herds us if the kids and I go for a walk and he sees someone he's not particularly fond of. It's quite amazing; he zigs through two kids, circles back around and, voila, we're all behind him looking at each other trying to figure out how we've just been loved by instinct.

I would love another dog, but I won't put up with hub fussing about how terrible the new dog is. We have animals all over the place. We produce a lot of trash, even with recycling most of our paper products for animal cages. The new baby will explore and will discover all kinds of nifty things around here and will have to be trained as to what is and isn't appropriate for dog kind, something my dog already knows by instinct. Can't be a terrier for certain because of all the rodents, and probably the snakes, too.

I agree, though, something has to be done to protect our house. There is a serial bank robber out there. In the crime blotter in the paper, five geniuses have decided to go ask for a glass of water, get inside the house, and start stealing at gunpoint. With gas rising to $200 a barrel, Ameren not even kissing us before they screw us, and food prices going up, it's not going to get better. If we're not in country-wide recession, a lot of us are in a PERSONAL recession, and it's going to get much uglier before it's done. Living in a poor white trash house in a nondescript neighborhood with a big dog outside is somewhat of a deterrent, I hope. I would think a robber running into a room full of rats, then a room full of mice, and then into a room full of snakes would make him or her pause. If he comes in the other way, there are more rodents and a big 100-pound dog and me. I only just don't look scary. Truth is, I'm the territorial bitch around here and the dog's my backup. Shoot, the cat might get him first. He's an ornery sonovabitch.

I guess the biggest advantage to authors is their ability to see things in a setting. It's useful for preparation. I have a big pan by the kitchen door and the front room's got so much furniture in it that it will be hard for a perp to see what's coming and negotiate, at least while we're playing room-around-the-rosie and getting everything in their places for summer animal adjustements. I have a crowbar. I already carry my milk and soda in case I'm accosted out in a parking lot. A gallon of milk at the head or a 12-pack, take your pick, fucker. The kitchen door has a habit of getting stuck all the time, and it's hard for us to open it, so I can imagine that a stupid fool couldn't enter the house as easily as he'd want.

It's like the guy who stole our car some 10 years ago. The heavy door often bent the hinges, and there was a certain knack to closing it properly. When we found it ditched, he had taken the speaker wire and wrapped it around the lock to keep the door from opening at highway speeds. I figure he got what he deserved. I can imagine him feeling panicky about stealing a car anyway, only having to stop time and time again, trying to figure out how to keep that damn door closed. The car was old; it wasn't a great loss but it was a loss, but thinking about how the car must've frustrated him on the lam helped us deal with it.

So, the same principle applies to the house, whether or not we get another dog. I hate this old place sometimes, but there are tips and tricks to its proper use, any of which works in our advantage and not a trespasser's. Still, with a fledgling business, it would be irresponsible of us not to foresee the big, big picture, and getting another dog that barks is one answer, and definitely more fun than a very expensive alarm system with its monthly fees.

So, what's a girl to do? While we debate the dog situation, I'll stash lethal nonweapons around the house, and make sure the really big snake food items hang out close to the doors and windows. I know I won't go in that room...