Tuesday, January 15, 2008


Nathalie and I watched a marathon of poorly reconstructed reenactments of true ghost stories on TV. As terrible as the acting was, the stories were absolutely fascinating. And with each episode more frightening than the last, the entities became increasingly more evil and malevolent, and the stories more deliciously and wickedly entertaining. These stories sent chills up and down our spines, and we huddled on the couch, completely enthralled.

But like anything done in excess (shopping, alcohol, karaoke), it was a lot of fun at the time, and in due time I soon grew to regret it.

As I lay in bed in an old house that was probably built over some sacred burial ground, analyzing every small noise, waiting for the demons to come eat me and Nathalie, I kicked myself over and over again for not peeing before getting into bed. Because now I had to pee.

And everybody knows that this is exactly the moment that the demons are waiting for. And after spending the last 30 minutes laying in bed letting my imagination run wild, I knew that the moment I got in the bathroom, I would be either devoured, or possessed, or torn to bits, or dragged into hell, or any number of unimaginable horrors.

But I really had no choice. My bladder had reached its limit.

I got out of bed and scurried to the bathroom, being careful not to look into any mirrors along the way. Scary stuff being seen via mirrors is probably all bullshit, but tonight wasn't the night to challenge that assumption.

Thankfully, the trip back to the bedroom was also devoid of any demonic misadventures. As I settled back in bed, much relieved (in many ways) but still a bit spooked out, I wondered what kind of bizarre dreams were in store for me tonight. There was a modicum of relief knowing that it was a Sunday night, and I thanked God for his holy holiness. But come midnight, Sunday comes to an end, only to be followed by all things evil that is Monday and who knows what devilish madness awaits?