The Importance of Being SanePosted: September 5, 2011
I was supposed to write this post on Friday night to keep you guys amused over the weekend, but then I became uber paranoid that some crazy internet serial killer would read it and then hunt me down and torture/maim/kill/etc me.
You see I spent the weekend on my own in the apartment.
And while I am fiercely independent and quite like my alone time, I hate being on my own in a house/apartment/caravan/etc.
It comes from the fact that I have a severely overactive imagination, I watched way too many horror films as a kid and I am now addicted to programmes like Criminal Minds and Supernatural – all of which have turned me into a neurotic coward (as demonstrated in the intro).
I genuinely spent the last week panicking about The Roomie heading off to Electric Picnic for three nights, leaving vulnerable, chaos-attracting, painfully-clumsy me to fend for myself.
Not that I’m sure how she’d save me if we ever were broken into, because she’s literally half my size.
I decided the best way to get through the first night was to get horrendously drunk with one Miss Whisty and therefore be far too sloshed to mind spending the night alone.
That plan worked VERY well….AND involved the best chicken ever.
I had a similar plan for Saturday night, but I was incapacitated with stomach cramps that day and could barely move.
Don’t pity me – it was completely my own fault for eating bags of gluten during the week because I was too lazy to walk an extra ten minutes to the anti-gluten providers.
And so after my tea-drinking friend left me around 10pm, I spent the next six hours jumping at every little sound, constantly checking the front door was locked, putting things in front of my bedroom door and then moving them to go back and check the front door was locked again and just generally not being able to sleep.
I was also convinced I heard noises coming from The Roomie’s room and thought that someone had somehow gotten in and was hiding out in there until I was a sleep…and would then murder me, obviously.
I stood outside her door for 20mins barely breathing, straining to hear something.
I was also clutching a ladle at the time.
In the end I retreated to my own room…but kept the ladle handy, just in case.
Around 3am, the delirium kicked in and I had to consider the fact that this apartment could be haunted (again, I blame Supernatural) and I now not only had to worry about human murderers, but also those from ‘the other side’.
Google is a very bad thing to have at times like this.
I’m still hysterical.
It’s Sunday afternoon as I’m writing this, so I’ve no idea what kind of overreactions I’m going to have tonight, but I’m hoping I’ll be too tired for it to go on as long because I have work tomorrow.
Although I guess if I actually am murdered, it won’t really be an issue… #silverlining
EDIT: Yay! As of 9:06am on Monday 5th September, I am unmurdered!
EDIT#2: When doing that Human Verification thingy to post this on Facebook, one of the words I had to type was ‘kill’….*gulp*