I have an over active imagination. I take the most remote thoughts in my head and I... well I don't do anything. These ideas seem to develop on their own. Here's an example: I walked on the deck for a nightly smoke, and just as I stepped out there I heard something crack, just off the deck, close to the woodsline. My rational self knows that it was a cat or a rat or a raccoon. But the sound resonates in my mind. And I start thinking about something lurking in the moonlight, behind a tree, and the noise of my footsteps on the deck makes this ghoul turn it's attention to me. And as I sit in my deck chair and fire up my smoke, I imagine that this creature, this hound or dog or wolf or bobcat is crouched, in attack mode, sizing me up. He's looking for my weakness, observing my motions, looking for a good time to attack. And I wonder if mountain lions are smart enough to know when a human is looking at them, and if they're smart enough to know when I turn my head to walk in. It's stalking me. It's taking it's predatory silent steps, every few seconds, not wanting to make another mistake like making another fallen limb go crack in the night. It's shoulders are huanched and its eyes are wide yet trained on me, planning it's instantaneous attack. Wild cats seem to be able to calculate how many steps it's going to take them to pounce on their prey. They watch, ever so closely, and wait for that single opportunity to present itself to them. Will I look away? Is it my imagination? I did hear something, that's a fact. Sticks don't just crack on their own. A house cat doesn't make sticks break like that. A dog would've started barking in the night. A raccoon would've run, a deer would've run. Has to be a predator, has to be a killer. So I sit, and I smoke, never taking my eyes off the woods. I scan left then right, I can't see in the dark night shadows, but I'm certain I've looked right over the killer in the shadows. I know he can see me, smell me, sense my actions are defensive. I crush out my cigarette and hold my beer in one hand as I stand. I know he's thinking that this is his chance, his opportunity to get the jump on me. I'm ten feet from the back door. I turn to walk, but listen as I do. I'm waiting for a sign, waiting for something to crack or creak or to hear footsteps. After one step I look out into the dark wooded area, I see nothing. I take about eight more steps and put my hand on the door handle of the sliding glass door. No sound. This is his chance. I slowly slide the door open just far enough to get my body inside if I turn my shoulders to the side. One foot in, my head in, my shoulders in, I realize that my rear foot is still exposed, still on the deck. I imagine the Mountain Lion leaping over and clearing the deck railing, and as he descends ontop of me, his huge white teeth plunge into my calf, and he drags me back out the partially opened door and mauls me, while eating me alive. But it doesn't happen. I quickly pull my back foot inside the door, and close the door. I'm not scared mind you, my rational side knows the story is far fetched and that there's not a mountain lion for hundreds of miles. But still, the thought lingers for a moment. It could happen right? I do this all the time. No, I don't do anything. My mind does this all the time. I can't stop it, can't turn it off. Maybe this is why I don't sleep much. Who knows? This is one of about ten thousand imagination distractions that I deal with on a daily basis. Why Lord? Why me? I guess it could be worse. Right?
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