Happy 2015 (Insert Mortal Kombat theme music)

There's a saying in Brazilian Jiujitsu, "If you think, you are late." In other words, learn to react defensively without giving it thought. Well, the other day at 5:30 AM (when I wake up to write but mainly just drink coffee and watch the news) I heard a, weeeeeer. I ran out in the front yard, in the dark mind you, ready to cut down whatever fowl beast dared vocalize on my property. Nothing. Went back inside and heard it again but this time, I knew exactly what it was. A chupacabra! (Or maybe a cat. It’s a toss up.)

For non Texan readers,
here is an actual photo of a
chupacabra! Look at its claws...
oh, wait...my bad...

Here is a chupacabra! (Goat sucker.)

I ran to the back door and my cat was its window, poofed out to three times her size. I let her in and heard a scratching against the back fence. Maybe it was a possum or raccoon. Perhaps a possucoon. (It was a strange Spring.) But, more likely than not, I thought, it was a chupacabra. Actually, that’s not true. I didn’t think anything. I reacted. I ran out onto the porch, grabbing a bamboo fighting stick up with one hand, (Yes, we have various bamboo fighting sticks lying around. Doesn’t everyone?) and a purple, plastic, kid’s gardening hoe in the other. And it was officially ON. My arms were outstretched, eyes wide, teeth bared and pink, flannel, frog pajamas near to bursting into flames from the friction of my sprint. I could hear the Mortal Kombat theme whirring in my head and, in my mind’s eye, I was that girl in the game that generally lost to Reptile but I felt pretty sure that wasn’t what was in the corner of the yard so, I was good.

The scratching grew louder. The sucker was having a heck of a time climbing the fence and I still couldn't be sure what it was. (Again, pretty certain not Reptile.) It had the advantage of darkness, the cover of tall shrubbery and I, against the instruction of Sun Tzu, had cornered it, not given it an out. As such, it wasn’t just climbing to escape, but to save its life, return to its kin and propagate the earth with its aberrations. Me? I was just there to fight. In pink, frog pajamas.

Panic was thick in the air. Scratching grew louder followed by interspersed thuds as it fell again and again. Yes, thuds. Whatever it was, was heavy enough to thud. A sane woman might have high-tailed it back to the house. But, I was no sane woman. I was that Mortal Kombat girl armed with a Kali stick and purple, plastic, three foot long hoe. Unlike her, however, I was appropriately dressed and my bosom wasn’t a sneeze away from exploding from my shirt. (How did she fight like that! Also, it wouldn’t matter what I had on, my bosom isn’t exactly capable of explosion unless I’m strapped to a bomb. Some women are built for diversion(curves). I’m built for action (efficient, compact, light).)

Finally, after a particularly spirited scratch, there was a final thud. And then, silence. Silence is bad. Ask any trained soldier or mother of small children. If you know your enemy isn’t dead or taking a nap, you want to hear them. Again, if I had thought about it, I would have run. But, that would have made me sensible and no shield maiden is sensible in the heat of war!

General Grievous

I laid into that shrubbery like General Grievous. Whatever the beast was, it had no chance. The same can be said for the lavender my husband planted. That carnage would later be explained as collateral damage in what was a life or death situation for me and maybe some of it blamed on the kids. Regardless, I really hate the entire act wasn’t caught on film. It was magical. The kind of violence ya just want to pour into a cup and sip on. Jean Claude Van Damme would look at it and say, “zees ees reeely gud. I loaf zee pajamas.”  (That’s for my readers is France. You’re a faithful lot.)

Sadly for me, lucky for its coven, the beast did escape. It jumped into a pine tree behind the fence. The weight of it shook the bough. I was left standing, panting, and steeped in disappointment from not having been splashed with blood. I wanted to walk away looking like something from a deleted scene of Braveheart. The crimson spatter across the pacifistic pajamas would have been a literary level of irony and given me major street cred in my house. “Didn’t I say brush your teeth? Look at these pajamas, ese! Don’t you know I’m loca?”

Happy 2015, my dear readers. Take on a monster that’s long been scratching at your fence. Do that thing you think you can’t. Maybe that’t the problem. You’re thinking too much. Sign up for that tournament, that race. Turn in your manuscript, make that call, raise your hand, speak up and stand out. Grab your bamboo fighting stick, your plastic garden hoe and rush unabashedly into the fray to slay the dragon. Or Chupacabra or possacoon… Chances are, you’ll find it’s just your neighbor’s cat and is far more scared of you than you it. (Mine was a chupacabra y’all. For reals) 

When it’s all said and done, and you’re standing in the aftermath, heaving, trembling, no matter what it was you took on, you will have won. Not because you beat the thing (poor lavender bush) but because you didn’t allow it to beat you. You didn’t let your brain think you into inaction. You didn’t let fear rob you of a chance to be brave.

May the God of the brave and those who have yet to realize they are, bless you all.

“If you think, you are late. If you are late, you use strength. If you use strength, you tire. If you tire, you die.”