Monday Night Football - Fear is the Mind Killer

I was home alone on a quiet Monday night. I watched the Tampa Bay Buccaneer Football season opener against the Philadelphia Eagles. Normally, I don't watch much football but in this particular case, I had some interest in seeing how the home team played after the prior year's record run. At the very least, I could discuss the outcome with my barber, who has season tickets to the Bucs. I flipped channels between football and the Sci-Fi Channel when one bored me more than the other.

As a sideline to my casual observance of the television, I folded clothes and performed other mundane tasks associated with my current single living arrangements. My apartment is neat if not totally spotless. It serves me well as a base to go about my seemingly involved life; work, teenaged daughters, more work. This year has been fairly momentous for me, lots of changes and new life situations, divorce, single life after nearly a quarter of a century of marital bliss. I am adapting. Slowly.

Back to Monday Night Football: So anyway, I'm flipping back and forth. Sci-Fi, football, Sci-Fi, football, do some dishes, fold a few clothes. At half time I took my shower and retired to my bedroom. The game was interesting to the degree that the Tampa team had stymied all attempts by Philadelphia to even move the ball, much less score.

I was trying to view the contest with some degree of erudition in the hope that I could converse, at least minimally, about the outcome, should that subject come up at work. I must maintain my position as alpha male, a meat eater, in the workforce. Water cooler talk can go badly for someone like me who does not know why a Shotgun Offense works better than a Nickel. I swear that I am a heterosexual male. I swear.

Those of you, who do know me, know that I cannot fall asleep easily. Blame it on stress or diet or any number of other conditions, I tend to stay awake, some time for hours, spinning the television dial, looking at news or movies or more news.

Through the magic of pharmacology, I have found some relief for my periodic insomnia. I occasionally take a small white tablet and within fifteen, twenty minutes at most, I am asleep. I will awaken in the morning mostly refreshed, many times, still holding the television remote. A timer turns off the machine and turns it back on again, in time for the next news cycle. Technology is wonderful.

This night was no different, but I wanted to see the outcome of the game. I waited until the last few minutes of the event before I took my pill. I watched Warren Sapp, a large Defensive Player for the Bucs, play as a Wide Receiver and catch a pass. This atrocious play moved the game beyond a seasonal loss to a mean ass beating for the Eagles. That is what one might consider a seminal moment in football. A soul crushing moment in the testosterone dominated game.

I had seen enough. I set the television timer and turned the channel to the Fox News Network where I could watch the economy and the war in a "fair and balanced" venue without the leftist screed of CNN.

Somewhere between football and politics, I nodded off. Then the TV went dark.

Suddenly, without warning, claxons were going off in my head. Sirens from inside my apartment were screaming madly. High pitched, unrelenting, oscillating high, low, high, low, louder and louder. High Low - High Low.

I instinctively threw myself out of bed. I hurled myself to my left side in the direction of the nightstand where my pistol lives, away from the windows, toward the bathroom. I nearly separated my shoulder when I hit the wall. I slumped on the floor in a tangle of bedclothes, sheets and pillows.

My sheet, comforter, blanket and pillows all flew in the general direction of my body. I instinctively, silently, grabbed my automatic from the drawer and held it at the ready; both hands, modified Weaver stance, close to my chest. I braced myself unsteadily against the wall of the bedroom covering the doorway. My pounding heart threatened to knock me off my feet.

The alarm suddenly went silent. Absolute quiet descended upon the scene as abruptly as the siren went off. I could not feel myself breathe. My finger laid along side the short barrel of my forty. Now I know why I keep one round in the chamber. I didn't want to make a sound. The pistol has no safety mechanism. This means that all you need to do is point and click. Like a computer mouse with a much, much bigger bite.

I stood motionless in the darkness atop the pile of bedding. I froze and listened for the inevitable footsteps that would surely follow the perimeter penetration. I looked for shadows, any movement, any sound. I was shaking and holding my breath. I tried to calm down, still nothing.

Breathing exercises from a long forgotten meditation class...

Counting down from one hundred.

Shaking.

I looked at my clock. It was one thirty in the morning. I stood stock silent for ten minutes, not nine, not eleven, ten. Nothing. My feet were tangled in my sheets so I worked them loose in slow motion. Eyes never averted from the doorway. Where was the burglar? The Invader? Was this a home invasion? How many threats?

Very quietly, I knelt down to retrieve my large, black Halogen Mag-Lite from beside my bed. I still managed to keep my eyes on the doorway as I situated my light in my left hand as a support for my gun hand. I figured I could blind them if I didn't shoot them.

Trembling as the biggest jolt of adrenaline I have ever experienced in my life coursed through my body, I proceeded to position myself in the best possible angle as I crept through the doorway into my open living area.

There was only one way into my apartment and only one way out. I crouched low against the wall, minimizing my profile, reducing the target if you will.

Everything became an enemy; my favorite chair, my books. Every inanimate object was a potential predator as I scanned the darkened room. Shadows took on new and malevolent forms. Each darkened corner took on a life of its own.

I could feel sweat soaking through my shirt. Three minutes ago I was asleep, peaceful, drugged and ignorant of any struggle beyond my own sleepless psyche. Is that a stereo speaker or some unknown assailant waiting for me to make a potentially fatal mistake?

I turned on the bright flashlight using a medium beam, illuminating the corners, the furniture, and the kitchen, seeing nothing more than accoutrements of my apartment that were there when I went to bed.

I could see the latch on the front door was still closed. The silver bolt glinted in the space between the door and the frame. That allowed me some peace. There was only one door and what self-respecting thug would lock himself in after breaching security?

I checked every foot of my apartment. Twice. Creeping around corners and checking all the closets and doors. I even looked in the space below my sink... just in case. I finally turned on the lights and put down my flashlight. I kept a death grip on my pistol as I evaluated the alarm system. It hadn't been triggered. It was still in the "set" position. The perimeter was not violated.

I sat up for an hour before I was calm enough to go back to bed. My heart hammered so loudly, I could hear it. I finally surmised that the smoke alarm had gone off. Maybe a blip in the electrical flow triggered some backup mechanism. I decided that I'd take a look at it later, in the mean time, I remade my bed.

I slipped between the covers hoping the drugs would kick in again and I could get some sleep. I thought how foolish I was to react so dramatically; only bad wiring, nothing more. Just in case, though, I slid my pistol into a holster under my pillow and fell asleep. Just in case.