Armed (and fabulous)

Disclaimer: If you are very anti-gun you may want to stop reading right here, as my very rural/white trash/country side comes out in full force in this post. End disclaimer.

It's not a secret that I'm scared out of my mind to be alone in my house till I move at the end of the week. I mean, I quit my job because of this situation, so clearly I'm pretty freaked out. I'm also ashamed, and feel like people will view me as weak because I am leaving the situation behind and choosing to remove myself from danger rather than fight back. In the past I always thought of myself as feisty, strong, and willing to take on anything. That was stupid, because when faced with a situation where I thought my life was going to end I found that I am just as human as the next person. I should probably be done feeling sorry for myself, but it is taking me awhile to deal with the fact that I'm giving up the entire life I've built for myself because of the actions of another individual.

It might not be the right decision for some, but I chose to arm myself and borrow my father's gun while I'm alone in my house for the week. If this person comes to find me, I would like to be prepared. I grew up in a rural area, so I'm used to guns and I learned to shoot when I was about 12. I know the statistics say that people are more likely to be killed with their own guns, etc, etc, etc, but I just know that it makes me sleep better at night to have a gun on my nightstand. I know how to handle one and feel I can adequately save my own life with one if that happens to be necessary. This is a temporary fix, and I highly doubt I'll have to shoot anyone, but I also never thought I would be quitting my job and moving into a trailer in my parent's driveway. Life happens. I'd like to be prepared for it.

Strangely enough, arming myself has provided a few moments of humor in what shall otherwise be remembered as a dark period in my life. For instance, via text messages my sister and I had the following conversation:

Me: I'm driving to Mom and Dad's to borrow Dad's gun for the week.
Sister: Why?
Me: To bust a cap on any potential intruders, obviously.
Sister. Cool.

My father made me demonstrate my gun loading/unloading/handling skills about 50 times last night, and we had the following conversation:

Dad: Now, if he comes into your house, where are you going to shoot him?
Me: (solemnly) In the balls.
Dad: No. Where are you going to shoot him?
Me: In the face. Wait, why can't I shoot him in the balls? That would stop a guy in his tracks.
Dad: (exasperated) Come on, where are you going to shoot him?
Me: (distracted by my adorable, senile dog walking up to me) Hi honey! Do you want to help me shoot people in the balls?
Dad: Aim for the part of the body with the largest surface area! You'll have a better chance of actually hitting him!
Me: Oh come on now, I have good aim; you saw the gingerbread house.

So now I'm armed (and fabulous), and cleaned out my desk at work today and only have to return tomorrow to pick up a check. I'm unemployed and homeless, but I'd like to see somebody try to break in and murder me now. Their balls would definitely be in jeopardy. I feel like I might offend people with this little anecdote, but hey, I am who I am. Part of who I am is very white trash and rural, and good with a handgun.

Today after dealing with the court/police/work situations all day, I went for a short run! It may seem like I dramatically slowed down, and that is in fact only because I finally calibrated my Nike+. Oh how I miss the days when it told me I could run a 9:19 mile... I did take it slow today because I was contemplating what the f I am going to do, and as such was just going on a short-ish run in order to relax and de-stress. It turned out to be a 5k! Woo!