Okay, got freaked out this morning. Admittedly, I do watch way too many horror movies, and so I automatically go to horror movie happenings
when weird shit happens.
I think I’m totally justified in this freak out.
I was up in the craft room, prepping for my show this weekend (come see me at Country Side Park and give me money for goods and services).
I’d left the alarm on because I’d just showered, and I always put the alarm on when I’m showering.
When I heard a bang downstairs, I figured it was the cats. They always knock shit down, and since George was already being evil and pooping out what smelled like a paper rendering plant in the laundry room, I assumed it was him being more of an asshole.
Then I heard voices.
What. The. Fuck.
Doing the one thing that you should never do in a horror movie, I went downstairs to check it out.
The radio on the kitchen was on. Really strange because I know I hadn’t turned it on. Unless maybe I had because, you know, I admit that I’m not always fully aware of what I’m doing when I wander through the house (exhibit A: the time I put a bag of pretzels in the fridge). But still, I’m pretty sure I did not turn that on this morning.
So I knew where the voices were coming from at least. I turned it back off and went to check the alarm.
The alarm was still red, so it was on, and there were no warnings about bits being off.
Since I was downstairs anyway, I went to grab a bag of silver bead spacers I’d forgotten in my office.
Then I saw it.
The top shelf of my cabinet of curiosities was open.
I swear I hadn’t opened it. Not for days and days. Maybe even over a week now.
It was open.
It’s the shelf with all my creepy toys in it.
Now I’m hiding at Starbucks doing work until I have to go back home and face the weird.