I don’t know if it’s more accurate to say I have an “overactive imagination” or I’m “paranoid.”
I feel like I should have grown up past the three-year-old stage of being terrified of the most irrational things ever.
For example, the other night when I turned off my light, I heard the sound of something falling. I assumed it was the picture I had hung up, because it had managed to fall twice already. I figured I’d fix it in the morning. But then, when I turned on my light for something else, I saw that the picture was still on the wall.
OH. MY. GOSH. What had the noise been earlier? Was it a demon trying to escape my closet? A werewolf scratching at the door? A vampire trying to gain admittance from the window?
The saddest thing is that those were actually the thoughts that ran through my mind. And then I couldn’t sleep because I had effectively scared myself to death.
Way to go, me!
I also can’t handle horror movies. Especially supernatural horror. I always go, “Oh, I’ll be fine! None of this is real!” Then I sit down and watch it, and I have nightmares for a week, and that’s only when I actually sleep.
To put this in perspective, I only watch the horror movie trailer.
I only say this because I’m home alone while the rest of my family is at the Amusement Park. I’m jumping every time I hear the smallest sound.
And the doorbell has rung TWICE. Like, seriously, Mom? How many packages did you order? I mean, I know half of them are my school books, but still!
Every time the doorbell rings, I stop everything I’m doing so that the person outside the door doesn’t think there’s anyone home.
UPS Guy: *ding dong*
Me: *mutes TV* *stops moving* *holds breath* *reaches for a baseball bat, because it might be a serial killer!*
UPS Guy: *leaves package on the porch and drives away*
Me: *hears truck drive away* *looks out the window to make sure no one’s there* *gets the package inside as fast as humanly possible*
I think paranoid might be accurate. Or neurotic. One of the two.
Right now I’m watching stand-up comedy to distract myself from the very definite possibility that there’s a serial killer clown about to break in through Youngest Brother’s window and kill me after scaring me half to death with his clown creepiness.
When I make the mistake of watching something OTHER than stand-up comedy when I’m home alone, there ends up being a jump scene at some point and then I die. And go find the baseball bat to hold on to while I hyperventilate.
OHMYGOSH the basement door just slammed. I’m going to go check. If you never see another blog post again, you’ll know it was a serial killer that got me. Probably a werewolf-vampire-clown-serial killer. I’m going to go grab the baseball bat and see if I’m about to die.
UPDATE: No werewolf-vampire-clown-serial killer. Either that or he’s a REALLY good hider. And yes, I’m assuming it’s a “he.” I do wish the stupid basement door wouldn’t slam on its own, though! It gets stuck with a tiny crack and then a draft comes and the door manages to SLAM REALLY STINKING LOUD with the two inches of space it has left to cover until it’s latched into place. Honestly? It’s probably a werewolf-vampire-clown-serial killer with a really good hiding place. You’re all invited to my funeral if you can figure out how to get there. But please don’t be too creepy in figuring out how to get there.
UPDATE: So I’m not dead. Now you’re really disappointed that you don’t get to come to my funeral. Ha-ha. Maybe I’ll still let you come when I die for real.