Living "La Vida Loco"

There are days when I really enjoy my life.....my INNER life, that is.  A typical day for me might start with a shower before I head downstairs to blow-dry my hair.  Gah!  Suddenly, I'm launching myself across the room, firing a shot from my blaster at the alien bad guys who are trying to keep me from getting to my spacecraft.  I dive into a somersault, dodging several shots and knocking two pursuers out of commission, spring to my feet,  let loose with several more blasts that take out the rest of my pursuers before I vault over a cart in my path and run up the gangplank into my ship.  And THAT'S before breakfast!

I should probably do dishes before heading off for my physical therapy.  WAIT!  Something doesn't feel right.  Stand back, everyone.  Nobody move until I've had a chance to check out the area.  If I'm not back in five minutes, go out the back window and find a phone to call for NCIS backup.  Tell them to make sure Special Agent Gibbs is sent out here because Field Agent Porterfield is in a potential hostage situation and might need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation when rescued.

Trained to lure adversaries into a false sense of superiority by making them think I am just a middle-aged, out-of-shape woman, I easily slip into my awesome ninja skills.  Hiyah!  Take that, vermin!

 But wait!  These aren't ordinary attackers.  They're vampires.  With a flick of my wrists, I draw on my otherworldly powers and the books on my shelves start flying off and hitting them left and right.  They're begging for mercy by the time my shelves are unloaded but it ain't going to happen.  I've dealt with their kind before.

"Never mess with a librarian," I sneer as I stake them through their hearts and turn them to ash.

Time to put on my shades and head over for PT.  I'm one of the few folks who know the truth about that establishment.  It might look like it's full of therapists and gimps but it's all a clever cover.  The whole place is a hotbed of political intrigue.  I park my car and uncoil myself from behind the wheel.  As I stride across the parking lot, I have to remind myself halfway to the door to mask my lethalness behind my bumbling cover.  My therapist starts me off with six minutes on the arm bike.  My steely gaze might look like it is locked on the minutes counting down but I'm watching everything around me.  Nothing is escaping my notice and it will all be in my report to MI-5 when my session is over.  Of course, that might have to wait while I grab a DQ Blizzard on my way back to the Safe House.

You know, sometimes I'm not sure why I bother to watch television.  I have enough going on in my own mind to keep myself entertained for months.  Time to head down the rabbit hole.  Over and Out!