Some Light Reading For The End Of The World

I’m scared of everything; the dark, being home alone, bugs, ninjas that use trampolines to bounce onto my room. Everything.

A decade ago, my sister suggested that we go to Halloween Night at our local theme park. It was a fun idea. For Diana. For me, it was an exercise it trying not to wet my pants. I clung tight to my sister all evening, as a comfort, or a shield, and if necessary an offering. Although, a bigger, fatter person would have made a much better shield, but scaredy cats take what they can get.

I spent the whole evening being terrified out of my skin, at points throwing myself and Diana sideways with the intensity of my reactions. That was until we got to the pig-man. He wasn’t a person, or at least from the chest down he might have been, but up top, he was a pig. Or sort of a pig.

Pigs share an awful lot of our genetic code which is why they get used in science a lot. This creature looked like he had come out of the wrong end of an experiment. He was making these tortured, animalistic sounds. While I spent the entire night feeling like I was going to die, when I met the pig-man, I was certain my time had come.

I bolted for the exit, throwing Diana backwards towards the pig-man as a sacrifice. “I’m sorry she’s not bigger or fatter,” I called over my shoulder.

That last part isn’t true. The only thing that came out of my mouth was the strangled howl of a person escaping death. I ran the rest of the way through the house, shoving the other tourists out of the way in my bid for salvation.

When Diana emerged from the haunted house, she was furious. “You threw me at the pig man! There was ONE scary thing in this entire park and you threw me at it!”

There may have been one scary thing to her, but for me, the entire park was scary, while the pig-man was the harbinger of my death.

I’m reading Margaret Atwood’s “Oryx and Crake”. Diana recommended it. “It’s really good, you’ll love it.”

I was so scared after reading the book last night that I couldn’t go downstairs to brush my teeth. My son has been sleeping in my bed and not for his comfort, for mine. There have been a couple of times, after closing the book this past week, when I’ve felt like leaning over and shaking my four year old awake. “C’mon buddy, Mommy has to go to the bathroom. You have to come with me. Wake up, wake up; I do this for you in the morning.”

There’s nothing quite like reading about the end of the world, when it feels like you’re living through the end of the world.

Finally, I called my sister on it. “That was a really scary book you wanted me to read.”

“Really? Was it?” The skeptical note in her voice nearly killed me.

“You don’t remember the hemorrhagic plague that killed everyone? And the genetically-altered, murderous pigs?” My mind went back to the night of the pig-man.

“Oh yeah, I guess it was scary.” This admission came out like I had corrected her on the colour of our childhood dollhouse.

And then it came to me, this was her revenge for offering her up to the pig-man. Life is long. But sibling rivalry is longer. I’m scared for what she has planned for the afterlife.

To Avoid Decapitation By Prehistoric Lizards Keep Appropriate Urine Cups Next To The Bed At All Times

A seven hundred pound alligator trapped me in my bedroom last night. Through the door I could hear intermittent huffs and loud slithers whenever it moved lazily across my living room floor.

I suffer from night terrors. One in ten children have them. One in a hundred adults get them. Essentially it’s a bad dream that makes you scream yourself awake. Unfortunately you scream everyone else in the house awake too. My mother had night terrors a lot when I was growing up so I figured all adults had them and that my Dad was just absurdly well adjusted or a really quiet screamer.

Last night I dreamed that instead of people having dogs as house pets they had alligators. So after being bitten on the leg and on the torso, finally an alligator went for my head. Predictably I shrieked bloody murder until my shrill soprano voice was so loud that I woke myself up.

Normally when this happens Roscoe will roll over, rub my back and say “I promise there isn’t a herd of goats in the bedroom trampling you.” or “Coelacanths are extinct, and have no teeth. Go back to sleep.” Which is not true- coelacanths turn up everywhere in fact there’s probably one knocking on your door as I type this. However Roscoe is completing a surgery elective in Windsor this week and so I was all alone in the bed.

This is where the voice of reason comes in. Your voice of reason is a rather important one, it keeps you from making bad decisions. For example;

Voice of Crazy – “We should snort meth! Or inject it! Or eat it. Actually I have no idea how one goes about ingesting meth but we should still totally do it.”

Voice of Reason– “What are you talking about that is a TERRIBLE idea. No!”

See how quickly the nutty concepts were shut down? That’s what the Voice of Reason is for.

Tragically I have no Voice of Reason. It took a vacation with my common sense a couple of years back and has been AWOL ever since. I have only the Voice of Crazy and the Voice of Slightly Less Crazy.

So this is how last night went.

(Photo Credit : Candy*)

CAPTION Clearly this whole incident is my fault, who leaves their under garments strewn all over the couch for blood thirsty predators to find?(Photo Credit : Candy*)

Voice of Crazy – “We narrowly escaped being decapitated by an alligator. But I can hear it outside the door. It’s sitting in the living room next to the clothes horse.”

Voice of Slightly Less Crazy– “Is it?”

Voice of Crazy– “Yes and now we’re going to have to pee into a cup because there’s no way we can leave the bedroom without being eaten alive.”

Voice of Slightly Less Crazy – “I’m not sure if urinating into a container is a good idea, besides there are no cups in here.”

Voice of Crazy– “That means only one thing. We’ll have to use Roscoe’s hat.”

Thankfully I have a bladder of steel so I was able to wait three hours until it was light out because light makes alligators evaporate. Although I did spend a good hour frozen in terror convinced that if I set one foot on the floor there would be a smaller alligator under my bed that would bite my foot off.

To lift with your knees when carrying a 700 lb predator? (Photo Credit : and Dustin Bockman Facebook)

Or maybe I’m supposed to remember to lift with my legs when carrying a 700 lb predator? (Photo Credit : and Dustin Bockman Facebook)

Here is a picture of the gator that inspired this whole event. I clipped it’s photo from the Globe and Mail a couple of weeks back to remind myself that…

Actually I have no idea what I wanted to remind myself of. To dream big? That there’s always a giant prehistoric monster lurking in rivers? To carry a harpoon gun everywhere?

The moral of the story is don’t pee into your spouse’s headwear. Or maybe it’s to not clip pictures from newspapers and use them as bookmarks.

I have no idea.

*Though my brain was able to create this image my dear cousin Candy** was responsible for photoshopping the picture of the alligator into my living room. She did this at a moment’s notice because she lives up to the stereotype of having a stripper name and a heart of gold.

** Names of photo shopping geniuses have been changed in the interest of protecting my sweet sweet and free connection to tech-y people who want to put their work on this blog.