I’m having the scariest Halloween season ever. It’s not the haunted corn maze my roommate keeps trying to get me to see (because I definitely need another weird complex associated with vegetables). It’s not the girls who literally have to tape their body parts to make sure everything stays inside their skimpy costumes. It’s not even the inhuman number of Pumpkin Spice Lattes I’ve been drinking in preparation for the long, dark, Pumpkin Spice-less time known as “The Rest of the Year”. Those things are frightening, but the most terrifying part of this Halloween– the thing that’s been keeping me up at night in a cold sweat and haunting my dreams when I finally manage to sleep– is the sudden, horrifying epiphany I had last week.
I finally figured out what makes monsters so scary.
They’re my ex-boyfriends!
Sometimes Monday creeps up on me and I realize I haven’t done anything bloggy all week. When this happens, I start to panic. I think, “For the love of all that is holy, Stephanie, haven’t you done anything interesting this week?”
Usually I can think of something by digging up some memory from the past, like the night I broke a grocery store, or the day I thought Jesus had come for me. I tried to do that this week, but I could only think of really short experiences– the kind that can be summed up in a tweet or two. Like the time my mom let the other girl scouts in my troop pour glue on my face while I was sleeping, or the night I didn’t go to prom and stepped on cupcakes instead. Odd, yes. A little sad, maybe. Regardless, there’s not enough to base a whole list on it.