This ain't no Sarah McLachlin song...

In the praised event that I actually fall asleep before midnight, I almost always wake up an hour or two after I have fallen asleep. It’s like there’s something programmed inside of me that insists that I should go to sleep until 2 am. Last night was one of those nights. I fell asleep shortly after 11 pm, but woke up at midnight freezing my ass of for some reason. It wasn’t really that cold, but I felt like an ice cube. So I got up and put on a sweatshirt and fuzzy socks (and I hate sleeping with socks on) and went back to sleep. I was kind of out of it, cause I kept hearing this weird end-of-the-world-ish sound over and over again. An hour later I was awoken again, this time by another noise that also freaked me out; again it sounded like the world was ending. As I lay there I tried to figure out if the sound was real, or just some leftover dream. Slowly I realised it was our doorbell ringing over and over again. Then it stopped. Was it really ringing? Was I dreaming it? Or worse, was there some axe-wielding psycho on our porch holding his finger on the button, hoping that some idiot would answer the door in the middle of the night. The ringing started again and I decided it was the killer. (Mostly cause I was still in that state of not quite awake yet.) So there I lay, listening to the ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong sound of my impending death, and waited until Chris came downstairs to face the psycho-killer. Of course there was no psycho-killer; it is in fact demon-ish possession (which was solved by a serious de-battery-ing.) Although I kind of wish it was the psycho-killer, because now, coupled with the shower of death, I think 3QF has to face the fact that our house is possessed by something evil. (Although the end-of-the-world-ish noise I started hearing again was likely the soundtrack to ZamBot27.) What’s worse? A house that is trying to drive you insane? Or a house that is trying to kill you? (Like my old residence, The Morgue) I think I’ll take the crazy, cause y’all know I’m half-way there…

I honestly think I would have fallen to an untimely death had I remained in The Morgue any longer than I did. In the 6 months that I was there, nice men from the fire department visited us several times. The first, when our carbon monoxide detector went off and the firemen informed us that our gas stove did not have proper ventilation and that we should leave all the windows open and stay out of the house for a while and never use the mo-fo again. The second, when I woke up to the neighbours banging on our door because the couch on our porch was in flames (due to someone “accidentally” setting a fire on the porch earlier that evening and failing to properly put the fire out.) We watched from our balcony as the firemen dragged the couch into the middle of the street and hosed it down. Neighbourhood entertainment. Then there was the time I was convinced that I could smell something burning as I lay in my bed trying to sleep. Luckily I listened to myself and did an inspection of my room, only to find that the outlet behind my bed had overheating and was burning a hole in my mattress. I coulda’ gone up in flames! And not to mention the fact that the previous 3 owners of the house had all died over a period of a few years. I really didn’t want to know how. And six months after moving in, I moved out. I found out that at some point after I moved out, the big tree in the backyard acquired some new tenants – termites. They infested it and the whole tree fell onto the house, crashing into what used to be my old bedroom.