Tonight someone asked me "don't you find it even remotely odd that this only happens when you're alone?" Refering to, of course, the ghosts.

I just want to point out for everyone that I don't only hear/see/sense things when I'm alone... they only bother me when I'm alone.
Actually, in this house I think I've only seen things when there are other people in the house. I really hope it stays that way.

Countdown is two days, then I can finally get a good night sleep.

I've been staying up way too late playing Uplink this week. Part of it is addiction, part of it is being too damn afraid to turn out the lights.
I love this game, and I think everyone should love it too. It's a hacker simulation. And I don't usually like computer games (USUALLY), but I absolutely love this one!!

But tonight I'm very tired... I'm actually lying in bed now, the only light in the house comes from the screen of my iBook. Twice since I've come upstairs I've heard a noise from downstairs (and while coming up to the top floor I'm sure I heard someone on the stairs coming up from the basement).

I think, really, it's not so much that it might be a ghost that worries me. I think it's the fact that it might be a person that worries me. How do I know someone isn't breaking into the house just looking to gut someone for their sinister rituals? Or maybe just robbing for some spare cash (and I'm sure they're armed, and won't hesitate to shoot if I wake up).

Years ago, I went to an animation festival. There was one short that was done in the style of the Christmas Rudolph specials, you know, puppetty type things.
It was called The Sandman, and it gave me nightmares. I won't ruin it for you by telling you the ending, but it was about a little kid trying to get to sleep. No dialog or anything. It was some scarey stuff. Certainly not what I should be thinking about now.

I just noticed that something stopped making noise. Maybe the refridgerator? This is when EVERY noise, even the house settling, echoes throughout these walls. I notice just how loud the ringing in my ears is, and I wonder if it's a medical thing.
Four clocks tick, each one like a booming passage of time.
Something clicking in the kitchen. Perhaps the 'fridge settling after keeping my ice cream frozen.
My stomach grumbles. At least I hope that's what that was.

Back when I lived with Debbie, almost every time I would try to sleep on my back, I would feel something on my forehead. It felt like a hand, as if someone was trying to relax me. It did relax me, and since being here, I miss it.
I don't remember how long I felt the hand on my forehead... maybe just in the last place we lived, maybe I always felt it with her.

I do wonder if ghosts really exist. Yeah, I believe. But I'm skeptical about all the stories I've heard, and even about all the stuff me and my sister have gone through. I mentioned this to a religious nut at work, who told me I'd better get a priest in here to exorcise the place before "that evil does something you'll regret."
Well, I don't believe it's evil. Just that it's not something I'm attuned to. Sure, I was used to it between the ages of about 19-21. I'd grown so used to the voices, that it didn't even phase me (aside from the fact that I found it hard to sleep without them).

Well, that's enough rambling... writing this helps get those noises out of my ears, be they creaking beams of the house, appliances settling down, or moaning and rattling chains.

So I'm sitting downstairs watching TV...
Behind me is the wall seperating me from utility room I'm deathly afraid of... three times now I've heard a thud, once I heard something shuffling around the hallway leading to the room.
Four times now I've heard a thud.
I am NOT liking this at all.

Last night I dreamt I had a migraine. I woke up with a headache.
How unfair.

At least the ghosts haven't eaten me yet.

So... it's nothing like that movie about the kid left at home to fend for himself against a couple of common thieves.
Nope, being home alone is much worse than that. There is nothing tangible to knock over the head with a couple of buckets of paint. No way to force my opponents down the stairs.

Ok, maybe it's not all that bad. I haven't seen the ghosts since June. Still, when it's dark and I'm here alone... I freak out.
Last night was a lot like a bad horror movie. You know, the kind of horror movie where the music gets loud and then nothing happens...
I was awakened at about 2AM by an incredibly loud wind which lasted (from the time I woke) for about 5 minutes. And then it stopped... it didn't die down, it just stopped. Just like a bad horror movie before my dead neighbor broke through the window to eat my brains through my chest.
Yeah, big deal... still, it scared me until I checked www.weather.com to see if it should be doing that.

There's one room in this house I won't go into when I'm here alone in the dark, which is really sad because I'm using it as a darkroom. When I was younger, used to have terrible dreams about the utility room. Dreams that beings of great malevolence dwelled there, vampires and other monsters that would hunt me through the house after I disturbed them. I would wake up screaming several times a week.
It didn't help that the water softener would make loud, horrifying noises that would make me hide under the covers for hours every few nights when it would turn on.
(At least that's not working now, so it won't keep me up)

My sister wants to help me research the ghostly phenomena we both experienced log ago. With her way out in Michigan, it will be impossible, but I'll wait a bit to see if she gets good at searching for things on the net (and since even a dead monkey is better at that than I, it shouldn't take too long).

Years ago, when my sister and I actually started talking to each other (we never got along until I was maybe about 25 or so), she told me about a lot of things that I don't remember. I have to say that if everything she says is true, I cannot imagine how she can ever even think about talking to the parents.
So, I can't help but wonder if my childhood was much more miserable than I remember.

There's some ancient mythology about a "being" called a tulpa. A psychic being created by any various kinds of troubled mind for equally various reasons.
I can't help but wonder if this is something like this, inadvertantly created as some kind of escape by one of us.
My sister has seen ghosts in lots of other places, though... she saw my dead cousing in the house he was living before he died, and other things I can't remember right now.
I've only ever saw ghosts in this house. Well, except for once when I think I saw someone I said I wouldn't mention here anymore.
So I think if my tulpa theory is right, my sister did it.

Dang, I'm tired.

I have a theory about ghosts. I'm too tired to go into the details now, but think of Earth as countless layers of different worlds. And every so often a part of one world breaks through into this one, causing ghosts.
Some of the layers are the past, or the future, there are layers of Heaven, and Hell, the Underworld, Tir Na N'og, or any other land of mythology.
Beings and items are drawn to their layer of origin, so they don't tend to stick around, getting pulled back if they've gone astray too long.
I could probably explain this for days, but instead, I'm going to sleep... g'night.

Here's a phrase you never want to hear your mother say:
Mind if I wash my hands? I'm all covered with honey, which might be fun another time.

Oh, how I wish I were deaf.

I was sitting in at a stoplight, music blaring from my stereo.
A man was next to me, and started waving his arms to get my attention.
"Yes," said I.
"I don't know if you realize," he says, "but I was a member of that band long ago, and if you like, I'll sign your CD for you."
I looked at him for a moment, awfully presumptuous he was.
"Sir, you are Ron Perlman, famed start of American and French films. And I assure you that you have never toured with Garmarna."
"You are, at least, half right. Allow me to prove my worth to you."
So I hopped into his car, and he took me to Canada. On the way, I asked him to perform City of Lost Children since I had fallen asleep during my late night viewing of the movie. And perform he did, with great vigor!

At some point during his performance, we got turned around. The mexican boarder patrol would not let us leave until they searched my pockets, where I kept my communion.
I hadn't taken the communion for a long time, for the last time I did, Angus McOg had told me to stick a pipe where the sun don't shine, if you get his meaning.
It was through the communion that I found love with Brighid, but she no longer wanted anything to do with me, I'd hoped Angus would set things right, little did I know...

My mind had wandered. Now two of the patrol were on bended knee before the third, who was bleeding from his palms. Ron suggested we skedaddle during the disturbance. I concurred.

We quickly found ourselves closer to Canada. In Idaho, where we came to find what it's famous for: highwaymen. Blunderbuss in my face, the masked rider demanded all valuables. I had nothing, though this did not curb his demands.
I realized at this time that my imagination was getting ahead of me, but there was no stopping it.
As the hammer was pulled back on the giant pistol, I knew I would wake from this, the victim of cardiac arrest, or maybe an aneurism.
As the trigger was pulled, Ron shoved me out of the way... and took the hit for me.
He fell to the ground, nothing more than a puddle of blood. The highwayman road off into the sunset on an ancient Suzuki Samauri.
There I was, alone in the middle of Idaho. Nothing around for miles aside from potatoes... lots of potatoes.

I have been far too tired this week.
Sure Sunday was my birthday, so I spent the entire weekend galavanting around town, but going to bed early Sunday and Monday should have gotten me back into sink with the world. But nooooo...
Even today, the folks I work with told me I "just don't look right." Sadly, this is nothing new.
I'll be in bed by 9 o'clock tonight. I never go to bed that early unless I'm sick.

Oh, and speaking of sick, I realized something today.
Ever since my little mishap with my head a few weeks ago, I've been dreaming again! (yeah, I know, I know, everybody dreams every night... blah blah blah) I had only been having dreams when I have a cold.
I've had good dreams, bad dreams, and weird freakish dreams. One night I dreamt I was keeping a bowl full of spider eggs next to my bed and they hatched into giant white tarantula's, so I went downstairs to tell my mother, who was making a breakfast feast, and she told me I had to deal with the spiders myself. Eep, I don't like spiders.

I dreamed of M. When I woke up, it was pitch black... and I'm reminded of a song by Roger Waters, The Moment of Clarity.
And the moment of clarity
Faded like charity does
Sometimes
I open one eye
And I put out my hand
Just to touch your soft hair
To make sure in the darkness
That you were still there
And I have to admit
I was just a little afraid
But then.....
I had a little bit of luck
You were awake
I couldn't take another moment alone

Of course, when I woke, I didn't have that joyous ending.
Still, despite the depression and uneasiness I get sometimes from the dreams, I like them. I hope they don't go away again, and if they do... I'll just drop a 25 pound sledgehammer on my head (that sounds painful, maybe I'll just ride Superman again).

And now... off to bed (well, not for another hour really... first, I need to brush up on my tarot cards to do a reading for someone at work. I'll be asleep by 9 o'clock, promise)

Joey, baby
Don't get crazy
Detours, fences
I get defensive

I know you've heard it all before
So I don't say it anymore
I just stand by and let you
Fight your secret war

Although I used to wonder why
I used to cry till I was dry
Still sometimes I get
A strange pain inside

Oh, Joey if you're hurting so am I

Joey, honey
I got the money
All is forgiven
Listen, listen

And if I seem confused
I didn't mean to be with you
And when you said I scared you
Well I guess you scared me too

But we got lucky once before
And I don't want to close the door
And if you're somewhere out there
Passed out on the floor
Oh, Joey, I'm not angry anymore

And if I seem confused
I didn't mean to be with you
And when you said I scared you
Well I guess you scared me too

But if it's love your looking for
Then I can give a little more
And if you're somewhere drunk and
Passed out on the floor
Oh, Joey, I'm not angry anymore


- Concrete Blonde, Joey


No, this, in no way, means I'm gay. Just very, very, very innebriated.
Praise cab drivers.

I make some damn fine chocolate chip cookies.
My mother's chocolate chip cookies are awful.
This house is cursed.
I made some cookies tonight, my first batch in this house.
They came out exactly like my mothers. It's scary.

Granted, I didn't bring any good baking equipment with me. No flour sifter, no $300 heavy duty mixing machine, no good cookie sheets, no cooling rack, not even that spiffy $1200 stove. Nothing useful.
I even accidentally bent one of my mothers cookie sheets in half while waving it through the air to cool it off faster.

I see this as so much more incentive to get out of here.
New agenda:
Pay debt off FAST.
Buy house with great stove.
Buy baking supplies.

That's it, that's all I need to be happy.

I've had a horrible headache for the past several days. Today is really the first day in almost a week I'm feeling pretty good.
And for all you people telling me to see a doctor for migraines... this was a sinus headache, so I can function, but would rather not.

Thankfully, the moths have gone away.
We've had this moth problem since I moved back... I almsot thought I brough them with my sweaters or something. Both the parents were convinced it was coming from one of the lightswitch plates in the kitchen.
So, to prove them wrong, I took the plate off (why they hadn't thought of this is beyond me). And lo and behold... there was nothing.
Oh well, the squirrels outside were getting antsy for their peanuts, so I opened up the tin full of peanuts (kept by the back door, right below that switchplate), and woosh... 15 moths came barrelling out of there.
Found some eggs, and dead moths and a number of other unwholesome goodies. They must have come in with a bag of peanuts.
Now, normally, it's only my father that feeds the squirrels, I was only going to be nice because they were knocking on the door. How did he not notice these things flying out of there every time he opened it??
Perhaps that explains this...

A few weeks ago, my sister finally became "the favorite."
Sad to admit, I've always been the favorite of my parents, and it was so very obvious that I used to get in huge arguments with them whenever they'd give me things, which was OFTEN.
Just to give you an idea of how bad off my sister was... my mother said to her once, "you were an accident" and my father once told her that he wished she was never born.
It's no wonder that she spent 10 years in therapy, all of it family related. I didn't find out about that until she was 5 years into therapy, and we had, for the first time ever, actually started talking (aside from basic small talk at family gatherings).
Anyways... so I went to lunch a few weeks ago with my parants and my grandmother. We were going to this place way out in Algonquin that I thought my father would like... he decided to drive.
To give you an idea of my fathers driving abilities, he's extremely lucky to still be alive... so is just about every driver in Chicagoland.
I accidentally directed him to a wrong turn (left instead of right), Alex was right, I am a pathloser.
He ended up needing to make a right turn... that fact that he was actually going left isn't a matter of consequence.
He did his little "trick" where he thinks he's inching out, but slamming on the accellerator then the brake really fast makes you go out considerably more than inches (not to mention that all the passengers look like bobble-heads).
He was "waiting" for some old guy in a white car to turn left into the driveway we were coming out of. Of course, the man wasn't moving with my father trying to do some kind of dance with the car.
He got well out into the cross traffic, and all I can remember was an EXTREMELY large "Mack" logo aimed right at my forehead.
Then my father stopped, waiting for that guy to move his car, he was oblivious to the fact that we were all about to become undercarriage. It was one of those too scared to do anything moments. But thankfully, dad got tired of waiting for the old man and gunned it.
And this is where I lost the favor of the folks.
Me (angry, and very loudly): What the fuck are you doing?! Do you even know how to fucking drive?! et cetera
I went on for, as near as I can tell, well over a minute.
I couldn't tell if my mothers look of shock was using words she's never heard me use before, the fact that someone was finally telling my father to take a driving test, or from the fear of becoming roadkill. But 20 seconds after I was done berating my father, she was talking about nickle slots or something. My grandmother, thankfully, wasn't wearing her hearing aids and had no idea what I said.
Lunch was... mediocre. I know at least two of us weren't in the mood to eat. Dad didn't say a thing, and still hasn't spoken to me since(aside from a few things, like when I'm doing work around the house).

Oh well, I'd been nice about his horrible driving habits in the past. Being mean and reactionary, as near as I can tell, has had no effect either. All I can hope is that when he finally takes himself out, he doesn't take anyone with him.

And for those wondering, no me and my father have never gotten along well. After 35 years, he still has no idea what I like, want, need, desire... anything. Like back when I collected comic books... there was one that I wanted, Moon Knight (the original series was great, got cancelled, and went downhill whenever they would start them up again).
So, he found out I like "comics." From that point on I was forced to get every issue of every comic released (often 2-3 copies of first and second issues). He dragged me to signings and to hundreds of comic shops to get back issues, and who knows what else.
I guess I liked it back then, I really don't remember. I know I didn't like getting up at 7AM on a Saturday to go to some tiny shop in Indiana to see if they had Avengers #67. Hell, I wanted to watch cartoons!
All I wanted was Moon Knight, I hardly read any of the others, though I did discover a great fondness for Cerebus (and thanks to dad, I even have the illegal false printing of #1). I liked Green Lantern too, not because he was Nigh-Invincible... his was more of a coping with the power story. I never gave a rats ass about the art, I wanted good stories, which were hard to come by.
But all I wanted was one thing, which had a run of about 34 issues, or so. And now I got a locker filled with stuff I'm too afraid to sell because if my father finds out, what will he think?
This is why I won't even mention the fact that I've started picking up the comic book Fables. It's an excellent comic about fairy tale characters in the mundane world. You know it's great when Goldilocks is a murderous skank.


I drove to Wauconda last week... non-highway streets it's a goodly distance. Did a lot of thinking...
I don't think I want to spend my life with someone 10 years younger than I am. Sure, it'd be great now. But when I retire, I want to spend as much time as I can with the love of my life... how can I do that when she'll still have 10 years to work?
But hey, that's not going to stop me... love is ageless.
I realized that I do still love Debbie. Whoda thunk it. Not me, that's who. But there's no way in hell I'm going back.
I know I still love M, but there's nothing I can do about that.
I still think I'm not ready to date anyone, actually... right now I feel like I'll just cling to the first woman that looks at me. They don't need that, right?
I just know I'm feeling lonely and depressed. Even my friends can't shake me out of this. Oh well, someday....

So, for the past 5 or more years the water pressure at my parents house has deteriorated something fierce. And on Saturday morning, when my mother was doing laundry, I knew something was up when it took 2 hours for the washing machine to fill up.
Sunday morning, while in the shower, I feared I was covered in little tiny spiders that couldn't be washed off fast enough. But I realized, after a bit, that it was sand. Where did sand come from? I thought maybe I'd gotten it while at the fabulous Rock River on Saturday.
Sunday, I was doing laundry (as I do eveyr Sunday), and would have taken as long if I didn't start fiddling around with the pipes... a horrible noise spread throughout the lands, but the water started coming out again.

Sunday night, my father got me with that old gag, "hey, what's that in the toilet?"
Thankfully, it was something non-excremental. I lifted the lid off the tank, and there was about an inch of sand in there. And about this time we noticed that the water pressure had dropped from negligable to almost nothing.

My parents started panicking. They seem to think there are pipes under the driveway, and tree roots got into those pipes, and let driveway sand into the water supply.
I assured them that if that had happened, the water pressure would be even worse than almost nothing, but they wouldn't believe me.
"Bah," I said, "it's probably the water softener."

Monday morning, at about 9 o'clock, my mother called the Schaumburg Public Works thinking they would do something about the trees under the driveway. I rolled my eyes thinking they would do nothing about he water softener.
She had to leave a message with the police department, what with it being a holiday and all.
I took a shower, the sand was so bad it clogged most of the showerhead and resulted in extremely bad water pressure.
At 9:20, the doorbell rang... holy crap! A government worker... on a holiday... in record time?!
He poured a glass of water out of the dribbling kitchen sink, and told us that the water softener was broke (woo hoo, in your face, mom). And he managed to, at least, bypass the problem (d'oh, right back in my face).
So most of yesterday was spent flushing sand out of the pipes and cleaning the airators.

This morning, I hopped in the shower, and was almost blown out the wall by the water presser. It sure is nice to take a real shower again.