Locking Doors

I am a door-locker. Always have been. If there was a lock on the door, even my tiny hands would find a way to lock it.

Why? I can't tell you, only that even as a little girl I had a need for privacy.

I have a recurring dream. I hear whispers of violence in the streets. I don't know where my husband or our sons are; it is me and the dog (not the one I have now).

I go to the hardware store. I purchase plywood to cover every window. I buy 2x6's and brackets and put them on the doors like Grandpa did at the camp. I pull my car into the yard after the tank is filled, and lock the gate. I store food and water and Pepsi, dog food and medicine. I have matches and candles, batteries and a wind-up radio. Deadbolts, front and back and basement doors. Ammunition. Manual can opener. Blankets. And I wait.

Wouldn't a dream interpreter have a ball with this one?

I'm not scared. Apprehensive, perhaps.

I awaken as usual, go into the bathroom, and lock the door.

I leave for work, get into the car and lock the doors, Hubby leaves for work, I lock the windows, the storm doors, the inside door.

I don't feel unsafe. Maybe a bit menaced, yet there is no threat.

Where did this start? It's been a part of me for so long that I don't remember being without it. Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean someone isn't chasing you...the phrase pops into my head. I can't lock it out.

I say that I am being safe. I am being sensible. I am being cautious.

Yet the dream persists.

Why have I the need to lock doors?