Sometimes I really fucking hate semi-automatics. It's my fault and not the design of any particular gun. I have this freakazoid penchant for learning to assemble and disassemble my firearms in the dark, and while most of the times it's a-okay, some of the times, as in just yesterday, I fuck something up.

And because it's dark, I don't know what. I've got one of the Glocks apart and am reassembling the little shit when all of a sudden everything comes to a screeching halt. The slide won't go back on and fer chrissake the recoil rod is sticking out of the front of the gun like the spring got caught on something and compressed but didn't let the rod ride along with it.

Any sane person turns on a light but not in this house. Gotta be by feel. What if I was blinded. What if I grew up and had a brain.

So I fumble and click things and compress things and slide things and all of a sudden the frickin slide is on the right way. I illuminate the work area and all is well. I do not do this with revolvers. I feel as if they are my friend, I guess, and wouldn't fail me in the middle of a pitch-black firefight so I don't frig with them this way. And revolvers are a bitch to get apart in the dark anyways so I don't try. Any more. Not a lot.

So what kind of gun does this shit but an automatic. Spring springing, sproingy things sproinging, metal things clakitting and plastic things clikitting. More than once Lisa has entered the room, and flicked on a light to find me on hands and knees feeling out ahead of me for the missing whatever. She excuses herself and leaves, knowing full well that my night vision has now been ruined and if charlie had made it into the wire I'd be a sitting duck. Rather than a crawling idjit.

Friends have often told me that I don't have hobbies. I have excuses to piss myself off. But some people are not meant for hobby shit. If I took up knitting it wouldn't be all that long before Lisa entered a room and saw me sitting there trying to make a scarf. Wearing a blindfold. She's cool about being with me. As long as there's not a lot of blood flowing she goes about her business without commenting. None of this, you'll poke your eye out stuff. She just knows that if I did I'd slap it back in and try to make like nothing happened because if it's one thing I hate worse than being an old fool is being told so.

Gotta scoot. Fricking rifle has been shooting to the left and it ain't me so apart the bastard comes.