Is what I was fortunate enough to have going through my head today.    
    Just like Homer Simpson.
      As I sat on the sidewalk in front of Casa de Trudy and basked in Vitamin D and wondered if the soil was too wet because I had a bag full of dirt.  Big handsful of clover, a few ants and one ladybug, rude peoples' butts and trash.  Those deep snaky vines (oh grow up !) that feel like rope-climbing when you pull them.   I've got coffee, cell phone, car keys, and broken baseball bat (for bad guys).  
 Did I mention the warm kiss of life-giving natural radiation ? 

"..Breeze zee ay-uh !" - The Trouble With Angels, 1966) 
    I am clad in full-on sweats and my hidden Tinkerbell nightie.  Blue fuzzy socks.  My 20 year old tennies.   I have gone ahead and mixed my metaphors or whatever, as I am weeding in my Dish Gloves (hot pink, but then you knew that).   I assume a blended pose of "leave me the fuck alone, I am having a weeding/Vitamin D  moment" and "look, my face is guardedly yet radiantly friendly.  I assess you as momentarily sane, so look at my cool nod and hear my inaudible greeting".     A coupla old Chinese ladies in amazing hats.  No big.
    Then, cometh the Bearded Scrawny White Guy.  We begin a very cordially-terse discussion of weeds, lawns, grass issues, moles, rain, sand.  The economy (or as my sister, Aunt and I call it "the grapefruit".  Mostly because we were so very tired of hearing the word "economy".  The E Word).  San Francisco, go figure, here comes the sun.  Thank you, come again. I continue to weed, and he prattles on about baseball and stuff.  I keep weeding, shaking dirt clods - only fleetingly making eye contact, as I am pretty much finished with him.  Been.
    This non-conversation has to stop, because Scrawny is starting to spew politics and fist-pounding local and global issues and Goddammit can you not see that I AM WEEDING HERE ?  "Ya think the rain'll hurt the rhubarb ?" was about as far as I wanted to take this relationship.
     In a flash, he stands before me spouting conspiracy theories and how he can prove them but he bets key records were destroyed and....   And I pop up and start dragging my dirt bags (very funny...) around the sidewalk as a subterfuge. Neighbor boy Jason Hoo pops out from next door, and bless him, starts his car and leaves it typically and inexplicably running... something that usually irritates me.  Not today -  I'm beginning to be glad for the company/eyewitness.
  Conspiracy Guy is on a roll now, and I am ready to go across the street to the car...  because an open house gate, and he could follow me into the house, theorizing all the while.  This is where my Louisville Slugger  comes in.    Before I know it, I am spitting on my hands and rubbing them together.  I grope at my non-existent nut cup, tug at my jersey, and adjust my cap as I squint into the sun.  Swing and a miss   ! He's outta there !
   Nah - Jason Hoo came out, I palmed the bat, Crazy Guy vanished.

    Dammit all to hell !!!  Cannot a girl pull a few fecking weeds in the sun anymore ?!

                     Space invaded,
                             Trudy

P.S.  You're only paranoid if they're not really after you.