Home Alone

Austin went on a wild college tour this week, visiting TCU, SMU and UNT to interview journalism students and speak on a panel or two about getting into the TV business.  He had a great time and met some promising candidates.

In his free time, he and bro Chris took in a Rangers game and he and his mom had dinner with baby girl's birth mom and her son, who will be 2 in a couple weeks.  I guess that means they had dinner with baby girl, too! :)

When he left town Monday evening after work, I was in full-on Home Alone mode.  I popped in a DVD and started painting my nails (O.P.I.'s aptly-named I Vant to Be A-Lone Star).  At a certain point, I heard a pushing sound against the front door.  This happens all the time in West Texas, because the wind is so strong.  I turned around to make sure the door was locked so that the wind couldn't blow it all the way open.

Let me take a moment here to explain that we live in the safest neighborhood ever.  It's super quiet, no one ever drives through unless they have business being there, and we rarely feel the need to lock the doors when we're at home, even though we almost always do.

So I turn around to check out the front door, and I see the figure of a man standing there, pretty close to the frosted glass.  I stand up.  In slow motion, I realize he's already opened the storm door.  Then, with my heart already racing, I see him turning the doorknob on the unlocked door.  All I can do is stand there and quietly gasp, "No!"

In walks Austin. He realized half an hour into the trip that he'd forgotten the laptop.

I picked my stomach up off the floor and stood there next to the couch shaking and panting like a fool.  I don't think he actually realized how scared I was until I calmed down enough to burst into tears.

I now know that my reaction to impending danger in my dreams – frozen in place, can't scream – is also my reaction to impending danger in real life.  And I don't think panting comes in handy when you're being attacked.

Cuz I was totally about to be attacked.