The Paranoiac

So, I get home from work and the Tidiness Nazi's precious dog is in the house - but no Tidiness Nazi housemate!  Wherever she is, she's taken her car so I guess she's nipped to the shop. I love having the house to myself and would have loved to lie in bed for a bit but decided to have a quick game of 'throw the ball up the stairs' at the dog (just to show the arriving housemate that I do play with the creature despite it being the most aggravating hound on the face of the earth) but alas she does not return and I grow bored.
Then I read the paper.  Still no Nazi

I check my emails.  No Nazi

Hmmmmmm, where the frick has she gone? 

Asking myself a question was the fatal mistake.  It gave my unhelpful inner dialogue an opportunity to start talking to me and interfering.

Inner Dialogue: You know she's been murdered don't you?

Me: Wha?

Inner Dialogue: Murdered.  In fact, her body has probably been upstairs in her bedroom all this time. Hell, she's probably lying there in YOUR bedroom! You haven't been upstairs yet have you, you lazy cow?

Me: Erm...no I haven't. Murdered, really?  Bloody hell.  I don't really think that's what's happened.  I mean, she's just a bit late back that's all and anyway, where's her car? Eh, tell me that!

Inner Dialogue: ...so, you think she's been in a car crash then?  A fatal one?

Me: NO!  She's just a bit late that's all.

Inner Dialogue: That brings us back to her being dead upstairs.  You've been in the house now for the best part of 40 minutes.  Gives you plenty of time to have killed her.  You'll go down for this y'know!

Me: FUCK!  No, I've got an alib...

Inner Dialogue: ...alibi?  Have you, have- you- really?

Me: Yeah.  I've been at work.  I've spoken to people on the phone.  The police can check my phone records and see that at 4.45 I was in Carlton Road talking to Emma at the office.  They will be able to examine the dead flies and lava on her and know what her time of death was and I'm sure I'll be picked up on CCTV SOMEWHERE at that time.  They won't get me for this one, oh no siree...

Inner Dialogue: ...but the killer would want to get away with it so is bound to have planted some evidence that you can't explain that would point the finger at you.  You're being FRAMED bitch!

Me (panic stricken): Noooooooo; they'll never take me alive! I'd never survive in prison.....Actually, I'd love it in prison if they'd let me stay in solitary and never speak to another fucker ever again.  Think they'd let me have some books, paper and perhaps do some Open University and watch tv on my own?  Heaven, I'd be able to conquer my procrastination issues and get some comedy written.

Inner Dialogue (losing the upper hand): Hang on, you can't go down for this - she's a heroine, the papers said so years ago when all that stuff happened and the public would hate you for killing her - you'd be public enemy number one for AGES and the lags would be after you AND how would you do your Stand Up?  It'd kill your mother! 

Me:  Ok, I'll just talk my way out of it all.  I'll be ok 'cause the truth is on my side.

Inner Dialogue: Pah, you always assume that during cross questioning you would be able to go into a Zen like state, say nothing and you'd be really cool.  Now we BOTH know that you're more likely to  panic and confess to anything and everything before the 'bad cop' even enters the room with his scary Gene Hunt routine. 

Me: Yeah, I do confess to stuff I didn't do but I'd definitely 'do' Gene Hunt but only in Life on Mars.  He was a nob in Ashes to Ashes.  Really killed the charac....

Inner Dialogue: ....so what you gonna spend the money on?  The money you're bound to get in her will.

Me: C'mon, that's disgusting.  She's not dead.  I'd sell the house, pay off my debts, quit my job and move back to Brum.  I'm going upstairs to check she's not dead. 

She wasn't up there dead but then I got lost in reverie thinking about if I were murdered and what the coroner would find in my stomach.  All I'd eaten today was a chocolate milkshake, a Thorntons chocolate and a load of ice water.  I'd then thrown the lot up (I have shitty digestion).  When I'd got home I had some ice cream to take down the swelling from puking.  So that was it, my stomach contents would be ice cream and nowt else.  Bloody hell.  I then thought about the last clothing I'd worn - grey trousers, a grey polo neck and a long grey cardigan WHAT WAS I THINKING? I'd look shite on the CCTV clips being shown on TV plotting my last movements.  My hair was a mess too.  What photo would they use of me on the news?  Perhaps that one on my Facebook page showing my new hair; that's the last one but hell, should I change the silly picture I've currently got up there?  It's not very fitting for all the tribute (in the singular) I'd get.  Perhaps that shambolic Stand Up clip on YouTube would shoot me to fame in death (probably not). The CCTV would make me look fat in death too wouldn't it?  Well, unless it was CCTV taken from a flattering angle above looking down so you can see my cheek bones.  The Tidiness Nazi wanders in.  I'd forgotten she'd gone out with our friend Lynne to look at all the places that are supposed to be haunted in the town in order to create a historic ghost walk..

...I thought about being a ghost last night but I've been paraoid and weird enough for one day.