Monday, October 25, 2004


There's something about being alone at night, working up in the attic, dimly lit by a bare lightbulb that induces the imagination to go nuts.

"Wouldn't it be nuts if the attic door slammed shut on it's own?"
"Was that a cool breeze I felt?"
"What's that noise?"
"I hear breathing. I definitely hear breathing."
"Is this part of the attic inexplicably cooler than the other part?"
"What if you get down from the attic and all the furniture has been rearranged?"
"That collection of dust looks strange."
"That collection of dust is moving."
"Does that collection of dust look like a word?"
"Why does that shadow over there look like a noose?"

After getting down from the attic, I concluded that:
   1: I've watched way too many horror movies.
   2: I need a horror movie holiday.
   3: I need a stiff drink.