Knock-Knock. Who the Hell Is There?

Hi, it's me, talking about ghosts again.

Boo.

For the record, this isn't an "I watch waaay too much Buzzfeed Unsolved" thing. I absolutely do gorge on Buzzfeed Unsolved, but I'm not looking for spooky lights or whipping out the old spirit box. Yet.

Oh, and even though I totally believe in ghosts, I'm a #Shaniac, not a #Boogara. Because Ryan is kind of a whiny bitch, whereas I'd be right next to Shane in an abandoned mission yelling "Hey demon boi!" any day of the week.

Um...if I've lost you and you have no idea what I'm talking about, forget about it. Or check it out.

Prepare to binge watch.

Back to me.

Last night, I slept on my couch. That's a thing I do now that I live alone, partly because sometimes I'm too damn lazy to move to my bedroom, but also because the pull-out couch is much firmer than my bed and I find I toss and turn a lot less. There's also more room for the Siamese Kitten, although she'd rather just curl up in the middle of my pillow while I awkwardly try to fit my head next to her.

So there I was, sleeping, when I was awakened by a noise. A series of noises, actually. A series of thuds. They weren't dull thuds, they weren't sharp thuds. They were just...thuds. Sometimes there was a single thud, sometimes they came in pairs or even three at a time. A few seconds would pass between each one.

They seemed to be coming from various locations - overhead, from the next room, outside. It was hard to tell exactly where they originated. I had no idea what was causing them. My first idea was that the wind was blowing around fairly heavy objects that were on the building roof and/or patios. That would explain the different directions they came from. But when I looked outside there wasn't a breath of wind, and what would have been up on the roof, anyway?

Then I thought maybe it was noise from the construction site next door. But it was way too early for the construction crew to be working. I didn't see people or moving vehicles over there, either.

I even thought it might be the Siamese Kitten having a middle-of-the-night zoom. As she does. Nope, she was fast asleep on my pillow. In fact, she didn't even seem to notice the thuds, except once when she briefly lifted her head, then immediately settled back. The thuds were much louder than her typical thunderpaws, anyway.

The noises were definitely not simply a neighbor walking down the hallway of the building. It's concrete, and it echoes - a lot. The thuds had no echo at all.

Finally, it wasn't noise associated with the furnace. The heat kicked on and then off during this episode - the thuds continued whether it was running or not.

Eventually they just stopped. If they ever came back, I slept through them. Weird.

Ghosts probably hate when we do that.

Oddly enough, I didn't feel at all afraid or uncomfortable during any of this. Strange noises in the night usually freak me out a little - especially when I'm alone. But all I felt was curious as these unexplained thuds beat out their odd tattoo around me.

What do you think, Drunkards? Do I have a (pretty tame) poltergeist? Or am missing a really obvious explanation?

Sleepless Night, with Thoughts of Cat

To quote Elton John:

It's four o'clock in the morning, dammit, listen to me good.

I have insomnia, and I'm stretched out on my sofa, staring at my computer.

My Siamese Kitten is stretched out with me, sound asleep.

And I just realized that this "kitten" is almost 12 years old.

She seems the picture of health. She zooms, and yowls, and jumps to the tops of the kitchen cabinets. Just like any cat in the prime of life.

But as she lies here next to me, I notice that her fur seems thicker and denser...because it's covering less flesh. And I can clearly see the outlines of her shoulder blades, and her spine, in repose.

She is aging.

We're all aging. I'm a damn middle-aged woman. Precocious Daughter has become an adult with a car and a job, and she will start college in a few weeks.

My parents, somehow, are elderly.

Yet I'm fixated on my cat.

She came into our lives when PDaughter was in first grade. I hope that she'll be here in four years when PDaughter gets her degree. That would be sweet.

The Siamese Kitten has saved my life on more than one occasion. Just by being here.

I hope she continues to be here.

And you guys, too.

I hope you've slept well.

Me to My Dreams: You're Fired

Two nights ago I dreamed about Arnold Schwarzenegger. He was being mean to Adam West.

How could anyone be mean to Adam West?

Last night I dreamed about Donald Trump competing in a dance-off/golf tournament in the basement of a comic book store. He got three holes in one. I don't think his dancing was very good, though.

Tonight, I'm tired. Apparently my subconscious doesn't find it restful to repeatedly dream about rich white guys who used to star on "The Apprentice."

Aww, they used to be friends.

Go figure.

My point is, I have all these great ideas for posts I want to write. But I'm too bloody exhausted to write them. Also, they mostly involve taking photos of random stuff lying around my place, and just the thought of framing, shooting, editing, and posting photos is wearing me out.

So I'm going to go to bed early tonight. With the aid of a Benadryl, perhaps I'll sleep soundly and well and untroubled by the wacky narratives my brain loves to come up with just to fuck with me.

Then I can get back to writing about the important stuff. Like how I bought three pounds of old buttons on eBay. Or my ongoing war against drain flies. Or my thoughts on monkey clones.

I just want to get back to normal, is what I'm trying to say.

So good night, my Drunkards. May our dreams shut the hell up and let us sleep for once.

To Sleep, Perchance...?

When I was a little girl, I had to say my prayers every night. Even when I was a wee tiny thing, I could rattle them off by heart, although I didn't understand what all the words meant.

Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

Ifoshodie before I wake

I pray the Lord my soul to take.

It wasn't until I learned to read that I realized "ifoshodie" wasn't an actual word.

(Don't get me started on all the "goblesses" I had to recite.)

I also frankly couldn't understand why I was praying that the Lord "keep" my soul, only to ask in the very next line that he "take" my soul. Why would he have to take it if he was already keeping it? This bothered the hell out of me, even at the tender age of four. It made no sense, man.

Thus the seeds of religious disillusionment were sown early. Not to mention pedantry.

One thing that flew right over my tiny blonde head, however, was that every night, the last thing I did before going to bed was to contemplate aloud the possibility that I might die in my sleep. Which, by the way, seems to me the very best way to die. When you consider all the possible modes of death - cancer, heart attack, driving off a cliff, stepping into an elevator shaft, being eaten by a crocodile - simply falling asleep and never waking up again sounds merciful, brief, and painless.

I guess that's why I never really grasped the implication of the prayer. "If I should die before I wake" is much more subtle than "If I should get mowed down by a runaway bus because I jaywalked, just like Mom warned me." That probably would have had a bigger impact on me. It probably would have kept me up all night, terrified by thoughts of mortality I was far too young to understand.

So it's undoubtedly a good thing I never grasped that I was praying about my own potential demise, night after night after night.

I prayed every night until well into my adulthood. I made Precocious Daughter say her prayers each night, too. I don't think she ever thought "ifoshodie" was real word, though. She's a smart cookie.

I don't pray very often these days. The second last time I prayed was to not get a flat tire when I took PDaughter to the airport. That didn't work out so hot. The last time I prayed was for PDaughter to return safely from New York. Mission accomplished.

I might pray more often if God could give me better odds than flipping a coin.

If I did go back to saying a nightly prayer, it might go something like this.

Now I lay me down to rest

I pray I toss an hour or less

If midnight comes and I'm awake

A sleeping pill I'll have to take.

I pray for peace, and that my brain

Won't start in singing the refrain

Of random songs I used to know

Or arguments from long ago.

If I should die I would prefer

To be asleep when it occurs

If I don't get a good night's sleep

Then off my soul your damn hands keep.

Night-night, everyone. Gobless.