who ya gonna call?

You guys already know that I'm borderline (?) crazy, so I'm not afraid to tell you this. Aside from spending the majority of my time daydreaming and making up different scenarios, I am also prone to moments where my imagination just runs completely wild. Usually, I am home alone when this happens. Which is good because no one actually SEES me acting like a crazy person, but then I go and tell everyone the stupid shit I do so it's not like it would matter if they saw it with their own eyes or not. Whatever. I'M NOT PROUD. Or prejudiced. Heh.

Anyway. Heidi was gone all weekend and has been working late every night this week, so I have been home by myself a lot. Friday and Saturday night, I was so exhausted that I immediately fell to sleep, but I can never sleep on Sunday night and it was made even worse because I was home all alone and every time I closed my eyes, I imagined a dark figure slinking into my room, standing over my bed, and slowly raising an axe over my poor, sleeping, oblivious body. You know, I blame Heidi for this. When I lived alone, I never really freaked out about stuff like that, even though there was that one time someone tried to get into my apartment at 4 AM. But now? I can't even be home alone in the DAYTIME without having a mini-freakout.

Last night after work, I was sitting at my computer. I had some music on, but not very loud. That's when I heard it! A rustling noise coming from the bathroom! I knew it wasn't Murray (formerly Phoebe) because she was lying next to my feet. Until the rustling noise! When we heard the rustling noise (!) both of our heads shot toward the bathroom. She stood up and crept slowly to the bathroom door and then ran far, far away to hide. I stood up as quietly as I could and stared at the shower curtain for a couple minutes, trying to make out the shadow of the psychotic killer (or WORSE, a zombie!!!!) I KNEW was hiding in the bathtub. I prepared to open the shower curtain, but first I put on some flip flops and grabbed my cell phone in case I had to run outside from the zombie serial killer. I couldn't bring myself to open the shower curtain with my own hand, though, because then I'd be too close in case a knife or an axe or dirty zombie teeth came swinging down. So I went to the laundry room and grabbed the broom. I stood in the doorway of the bathroom and slooooowly brought the broom handle closer and closer to the shower curtain . . . finally it reached its destination, I ripped the shower curtain open and . . .

AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

OK, just kidding, there was nothing there. BUT THERE COULD HAVE BEEN. And I was totally prepared to fight for my life, you know, with the broom and my flip flops.

I don't know. There was definitely a noise coming from the bathroom and it sounded like something brushing up against the shower curtain. I heard it. Murray heard it. I don't suffer from hallucinations (that I know of). There's only one logical explanation. My bathroom is haunted.