Military mama: Night shift has me on ghost patrol

I like to think that I’ve got guts. I’ve certainly spent a great deal of time being on night patrol at home since the night shift rolls up quite often. We have lived in old base housing in some areas that have a pretty interesting history. Our current home doesn’t have much of a background worthy of nightmares, but occasionally they roll around anyway.

I have a little admission to make: I geek out over the plethora of ghost hunting shows that stream on my cable box. They are fascinating, and each series has their own set of expectations. There are the skeptics, the believers and the over-actors. I don’t buy into much of the hooey. After a few episodes I do find myself a little more on edge than I probably should be with typical house-settling noises. We put a lot into trying to make my family secure. One giant dog, a sturdy fence, security system and yet I hear noises at night and I try not to flip the switch into pansy mode.

Whether or not there are ghosts, spirits, etc. that’s really only part of the equation. I think I never quite outgrew the adrenaline rush that comes from a good scare. For me, that type of fear is far different than say a home intruder or something with far more real, tangible negative results. That kind of scare is not welcome around my home and my family.

These shows and horror movies are a diversion, basically the static electricity of the entertainment world. And I like a good charge.

I’m like a kid covering my eyes, yet peeking through my fingers at the bad parts of a movie. I just can’t look away. Yes, I do cuddle up in a blanket and haven’t had to hide my face in it yet.

It’s pretty nice to have a big burly man to curl up with and feel protected. I’m practically an Amazon, so I feel like I could hold my own in if I had to defend myself. But, I definitely take pleasure in knowing that nobody is going to mess with my husband.

This is not, I repeat NOT, an invitation to scare the bejeebers out of me by knocking on my windows at night.

If it were my kids getting worked up over a show, I’d scoot their little butts on to bed and call them silly for watching such nonsense. Yet, I’m a grown up. I’m allowed. If anyone else indulges in these mysterious shows and movies. I promise to share the popcorn if anyone else still gets a kick out of freaking themselves out, too.