WHERE I'D RATHER BE

At this point Nate is calling me a melodramatic crazy person, but let's get one thing completely straight...Some. One. Took. Our. Stuff. Without. Asking. Our. Permission. Maybe I'm taking it harder than him because I'm the one that discovered the robbery. I'm the one that suffered mild heart failure when I realized my work laptop was missing with all it's corporate secrets {it was recovered by a neighbor in a nearby alley}.
I've become a bit preoccupied with the idea of being left home alone {read: Tonia is a sitting duck}; in fact, I really don't like the idea of leaving the house. I feel completely vulnerable in both scenarios {should I stay or should I go?}. I suppose the only scenario I like quite a bit is the one that includes me wearing a ragged old flannel nightgown and sitting in a rocking chair on my front porch with a shotgun in my lap. It would be fitting to have a trusty hound at my feet and curlers in my hair but those are details I'm willing to sacrifice. The shotgun can even be one that shoots a red flag out of the barrel that says, "bang"; I'm only concerned with the intimidation factor and not in doing anyone harm.
I've spent the better part of the day mulling over different ways I could have prevented the burgle, things I would say to the perpetrator, and all the scary and terrible things that could have happened but didn't. When I forget about what happened this morning and then suddenly remember it, my heart skips a beat and I get scared. Can a highly anxious girl feel the repercussions of PTSD from a simple burglary?
Anyway, I'd rather be in bed. Neatly tucked into my butter yellow sheets dreaming of gumdrops and unicorns and monkeys that play harmonica.