Come. Find. Me.

The case of Tom and Tanya Rider has weighed so heavily on my mind this past week. I do understand the situation of the law enforcement, but let's face it, my heart goes out to a man who knew *something was wrong* and couldn't get anybody to help him. He must have felt a lot like Cassandra before things went south in Troy. And my heart also goes out to Tanya. I cannot fathom what she has experienced, and lived through. God willing, I never will.

We can't predict the future, it's true. But we can do our utmost to bolster against the unexpected. So, I wanted to put it in writing right now. Right here. I want to go on record:

If I cannot be contacted, nor my whereabouts verified, even as little as a mere two hours after I am expected to arrive somewhere, something has happened. Come. Find. Me.

I am not running off to live in Upstate New York with some moron off the internet. I am not hightailing it to Fiji with Zorak's VA monies. I have not left my beautiful children, or my fantastic husband. Not of my own volition. Not under my own motive power. This. Will. Not. Happen.

And listen, be quick about it, because I've gotta tell ya, folks, I'm a bleeder. Not to mention, my cell phone isn't going to last longer than eight hours on a good day with no calls. I doubt it would handle a full-out auto wreck very well at all. While I'm thinking of it, I hereby authorize Verizon Wireless to release my phone records on Zorak's request. Give up the goods, guys. I swear I will not hold you liable for that.

Eight days? I get woozy going twelve hours without coffee. Can you imagine the rampaging psychosis that would ensue after a full week with no caffeine? (Let alone water, food, somewhere to relieve myself other than the seat of my pants.) No. No, there is no "right to privacy" that would justify that, for me. I have no shame. Spill the beans - my phone records, tax records, really bad driving record, bra size. Whatever it will take, but Come And Get Me.

Worse (in my mind, but I may be weird like that), what if I'm abducted? Oh, hell, folks, I haven't the fortitude to make a haul like that. Don't bother looking at Zorak. Or, if your cynicism has influenced policy to the point that you must, get it overwith within 24 hours and then Come. Find. Me. Seriously, there is *nowhere* I'd rather be than home, tending to my family, in the arms of my husband. Ever. Believe me. Don't waste time on supposition that I may not want to be found. I'm telling you right here, right now, I do not ever want to be lost.

So, I know it's not notarized. But it's published and available to the public for date verification and all manner of good things. And, on the off chance that something should happen, please remind Zorak he can find this post under "Come Find Me", print it out, and take it to the authorities.

Now, off to brace myself against accidental death and dismemberment... Hmmm...

Kiss those babies!
Dy