Michelle's House of Horrors

 When someone tells you something big, it’s like you’re taking money from them, and there’s no way it will ever go back to being the way it was. You have to take responsibility for listening.

–Banana Yoshimoto/Lake

 

Usually what is going on in my immediate surroundings and what I’m writing about in the blog are at least a little bit disconnected in time. I might write about something that happened in the recent past, but typically it’s not going on at the moment I’m writing about it.

When I am actually writing, I try not to get distracted by a lot of “stuff” around me. No TV, no music. I’m not very good about enforcing my own “no music” policy though. If husband is home, and there’s football on, chances are there’s also going to be TV noise. Normally, I don’t hear it, but words do sneak in. Usually it’s something I think I heard but didn’t. The other day I thought I heard something about a caged penis on TV. It was a completely un-penis-related commercial. To make a very bad pun, the word penis is penetrating.  If anyone says it, or if I think they do, it will distract me from whatever I am doing. I’m sure that is not a positive reflection on my character.

Or maybe there are a lot of words that sound like penis.

A lot of times when I’m writing a quick note, though, there are other things going on around me. In fact, it’s  probably something in my environment that has caused  me to want/need to write the note.  I might be at work, or in a bar, or in my car. Since I sing and think in the car, I do seem to feel a need to write things down most often while I’m driving. Writing while in the car is apparently considered dangerous, so I do a lot of repeating things to myself over and over until I get the car stopped and can actually write safely.

So if you ever see me driving, and I appear to be saying “caged penis, caged penis, caged penis” over and over to no one in particular…don’t worry, I probably am. It’s so I don’t forget. You should try not to interrupt me, especially if I pull over and am fumbling with my phone because that means I’m trying to write it down before it vanishes. The caged penis, not my phone.

The Notes app on my phone is great for writing random shit down.  My notes are very organized. You all recognize sarcasm when you read it, right? Very organized means that I have one huge random string of text that includes various movie quotes, song lyrics, snippets of books, book titles I want to read, passwords to wifi routers all over the place, a couple of dates that I have no recollection of writing down, and what appear to be notes from a work meeting. And the letter B.

The other day I wrote myself a note about balls getting stuck in a desk because I overheard someone say it at work. Now I’m writing about it and the circle of life is complete. Hakuna Matata.

The latest entry in my Note is this: Fucksox Siri Abby

 

What do you mean, you don’t know what that means? How can you not know what that means? OK fine: the woman who did the voice for Apple’s Siri  also did the audio versions of some books  by Christopher Moore. ( Bloodsucking Fiends, Bite Me, and You Suck–you should read them. They are funny.) One of the characters calls herself Abby Normal and one of her favorite expressions is fucksox.

 

I found that noteworthy.

 

Shrug.

At least it isn’t about penises.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And oh, my dreams, it’s never quite as it seems,
Never quite as it seems.

–The Cranberries/Dreams

They’ve promised that dreams can come true – but forgot to mention that nightmares are dreams, too.

–Oscar Wilde

 

Oh, for the days of succubi and incubi invading our night time lives.  Don’t you miss them? I suppose technically I’m not really talking about incubi and succubi, since I don’t really believe they’re demons. I’m talking about hyper-realistic sexual dreams. The ones where you wake up feeling like you  have received a very intimate night time visit.

 

Sometimes a visiting incubus does  you good. You know the dreams I mean. The really good ones. The ones the wake you up wondering why you’re so achy…ohhhh right there! When you wake up during the night wondering why your legs are so sore and hurry back to sleep to find out. The ones that maybe go on all night. The ones you want to slide right back into. It won’t matter if you’re late to work. Just stay in bed another hour or two…

 

Sometimes a visiting incubus is bad. You know those dreams, too. They’re the exact same dreams as the good ones only with people or things you’re not thrilled to have that kind of dreams about. Maybe the incubus is in the form of a person you hate. Or a creepy monster. Or just someone you find sexually repellent. I don’t think I’ve ever had a very long lasting dream like that. Usually the creep factor wakes me up. If only I could manage that with nightmares.

 

Why am I so fixated on incubi? Am I beset by demons?

Um. . . n-n-no.

They’re just interesting. Incubi are interesting.

You believe me, right?

 

No, I’m not working on how to get an incubus to visit me every night. That would be silly. I’d be too tired to  work, and that is NOT a reason for continual tardiness that I ever want to have to discuss with my boss.

I don’t think people use incubi as an excuse very much these days. “Sorry I’m late–beset by demons, sorry!”

Maybe I’ll bring it back–there’s nothing better for your reputation at work than demonic possession!

 

 

Shit. People probably already think I’m beset by demons anyway. I might as well get an incubus.
**For those of us not current on our sex demon terminology, an incubus is a male demon and a succubus is a female demon. Because I prefer male demons, I am focusing mainly on the incubus. Not that there is anything wrong with a preference for female demons.

Back in the bad old days, I suspect they were probably invented as a handy way not to out the perverts and rapists in the clan. Pregnant virgins in the family? Yep. Incubi. No perverts in our tribe, but oh my goodness we are very beset by demons lately!

In case you hadn’t noticed, I am particularly fond of the expression “beset by demons.”  Well, I mean, shit. Demons. What’s not to like??

 

Everyone probably has someone they wish they could apologize to about…something. I like to think that I’ve been a pretty kind person overall, but I know I’ve had my moments of awfulness. I might be smarter than a lot of people, and funnier than a lot of people, but I’m definitely not one bit nicer than I’ve had to be.

Today, I would like to apologize for the following sin.

11th grade. Or was it the end of 10th grade? I don’t know when it was, exactly. I broke someone’s heart. He was a bit of a bad boy, or at least he had a bad boy reputation, but he was always sweet to me, and a lot smarter than anyone gave him credit for. He loved the Supremes. How bad can you be if you like the Supremes?

I liked him well enough, but pretended to care about him more than I really did. When I broke up with him, it resulted in some pretty ugly stuff that I was  not equipped to handle. I wasn’t as callous about it as I acted, but I was scared that he was going to hurt himself or me. There was a knife involved, and a friend and a relative were  in the next room egging him on with Queen’s song “Don’t Try Suicide” instead of coming into the kitchen and helping me get him out of the house before he hurt someone. No one ever said teenagers are smart. Scared teenagers are even less smart.

Of course it never occurred to me to call an adult or the police for help. You just didn’t do that back then.

I’ve always felt guilty around the edges that I wasn’t kinder to him, because he was always kind to me.  He’d had a pretty rough life up until that point, and I don’t think I made it any easier in the end. Hopefully he remembers the parts that were fun, and not the part where I was a heartless bitch.

If Google is accurate, he has definitely not had an easy life since I last saw him. Not that it’s my fault..he was already pretty broken before I knew him.

Still, it would have been nice to find out he was doing well.