Paranoia

In the event of something happening to me
There is something I would like you all to see
It's just a photograph of someone that I knew:
Have you seen my wife, Mr. Jones?
Do you know what it's like on the outside?
Don't go talking too loud, you'll cause a landslide
Mr. Jones

Yes, I enjoyed the early Bee Gees. Yes, I'm old enough to have actually enjoyed that song when it was current. Bite me. Disco Bee Gees, not so much.

For some reason, those lyrics from New York Mining Disaster 1941, the shortest and weirdest song of the Brothers Gibb, often enter my mind when I get into a particular mood.

There are people who criticize those of us who have withdrawn from the system rather than continue to "fight" in the political arena. Their complaints are several, but the only one to which I'm not completely deaf is the suggestion that if we think we're safe from The Long Arm, we're wrong. That statement is quite true, as I know from personal experience.

No, I haven't entertained any SWAT teams. But for a while a deputy from the sheriff's department was tasked with the repetitive and no-doubt unpleasant chore of serving me several sets of papers from my ex-wife's vindictive (and apparently abortive - haven't heard from him in quite some time) lawsuit. This was the same deputy who arrested me for driving sans papers and confiscated my beloved 1986 4Runner, so he knows he's not my very favorite person. He also knows I'm armed pretty much - well, always. Further and finally he knows that bodies buried out here tend to stay out here. So...on his first visit he chose not to come alone, but with a beefy and grim fellow who, if he were sold in an on-line catalog, would surely have been labeled "tactical cop." And they had no trouble finding me at all. It's a big county, but sparsely populated. The point of all this is, the cops know where you are if they want you.

Which takes me back to that mood I mentioned. I'm prone to occasional irrational attacks of paranoia. And when I get them, I get...jumpy. There's no particular call for it. The local cops no longer have any official beef with me, and they're not especially given to uncalled-for violent behavior. But when they do have business with me, they have that "You're not going to try to shoot me, are you?" look about them. My mild reputation as a half-crazy hermit probably doesn't help, and then there's the big dogs. But I do know how cops often respond to that fear. And it's one of the things I worry about.

Last night I was reading in my lair when out the window I saw headlights on a ridge, still far away but closing. Probably a neighbor returning home; they'd likely turn off before they got as far as me. Or my weekender neighbors were also due, and they'd drive past me, but I wasn't expecting them for another three or four hours. There was nothing to worry about, see? But I had that mood on me, and I exited the lair and headed for the ridge where I could see what that truck was about and I didn't go back into the warm until I knew the coast was clear.

Irrational behavior, but it does come on me from time to time.