Now that my internet is behaving again (at least for the moment), I can catch up on weekend happenings. Just as I was about to post on Friday evening my internet crashed. Boo! And it wasn't even raining. I swear Comcast does it on purpose just to keep you guessing.
Friday was a bit of relaxation day because I had caught up on my required five job contacts for the week. I always leave it last minute because I hate it and it depresses me. The internet job boards are idiotic and show you things either way out of your knowledge or lump you in Sales. As has been stated here before, vehemently, I hate sales. At least, sales for things I am not passionate about. If it was handmade soap or yarn, I'm sure I could sell ice to an Eskimo.
Saturday we planned to visit the local cemetery with my son's cub scout pack and plant American flags on the graves of veterans. This went off without a hitch although it was windy and cool and the ground was hard as a rock in some places. I said hi and thanks to everyone whose grave I gave a flag to, even if their ground was stubborn. But I expect vets to be tough.
It was earlier than my normal rising time, but the sun was bright and the day was clear. My fingers were getting blisters by the end of it, but it was a small price to pay. I was working on even less sleep because that morning at 5:30AM I was woken out of a dead sleep by the feeling of little legs crawling on my LIPS. Yes, on my lips. I was dead asleep, dreaming even, and in two seconds I was wide awake flailing around in my bed, barely keeping from yelling. I never get up that fast, ever. But for bugs crawling on me, I am awake before I know I am awake.
It was a moth, medium-sized grayish brown. I see these all the time in the summer and they usually get in and beat themselves senseless against the skylights at night, keeping me awake. This was the first time I ever had one crawl across my face before. It was the grossest thing ever. It flew onto a window ledge but rather than pursue it I rolled over and covered my head with a sheet, muttering curses on it and its ancestors and descendants, if any. In the morning it was gone.
We've caught and squished three so far this weekend. They kind of blend with our carpet. But only once did they dare to trek across my face. Little monsters.
Sunday was preparation and shopping for my elder son's birthday. He is now twelve. I remember twelve. Now I feel old. My son begged me to make his cake for him, and since that suits a one-income household better (and generally tastes better too) I obliged with a simple chocolate two-layer covered in candy sprinkles. I even wrote happy birthday and his name without making it a cake wreck either (misspellings, running out of room, etc.).
I am very proud to say that the majority of my son's gifts were books. He reads voraciously, staying up late with a light under the covers, losing track of time, books scattered around his room, all of it. Just like I used to.
On Saturday evening my husband and I put Stephen King's The Stand on Netflix and watched the first episode. We saw it when the miniseries first played on TV back in the early 90's. I can remember liking the whole thing, except for the increasingly cheesy portrayal of the Walking Man. I suppose in that decade there was only so much they could do with special effects, but he was much scarier in the book. I still like to watch the stories of the other characters though.
The first episode has already inspired me to reread the book itself, a 900+ page tome which I finished in five days on my first reading of it, when I was fifteen, I think. My father was an avid collector of Stephen King novels, and I would read them as he got them, reading them off his shelf during the summer. I had to read quite a few to catch up to my father, he was always getting a new one. But King had a style I found impossible to be distracted from for long. 'Salem's Lot was the first Stephen King novel I ever read, and that was so scary to me I wore a cross around my neck for a year after that. I believe I was thirteen or fourteen. The 'Salem's Lot vampires will always be the "true" vampires to me. No sparkly romantic nonsense in King's monsters. These were demons, they were out for souls, and the vampire hunter was the true hero.
Then I tried The Shining. Even scarier. Isolation, madness, and psychic powers? Plus a hotel that's trying to kill you? Awesome. By then I was well hooked.
Imagine my excitement when I found out that the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, about an hour or so drive from our house here in Colorado, was the hotel that inspired King to write The Shining. My first impulse was to rent a room and stay the night. Is this the right thing to do for a person who awakens out of a dead sleep at the merest tickle of bug legs? Because the Stanley is genuinely haunted. The Ghost Hunters have it recorded (whatever you think of them, I don't think they fudged that one, they had no need to. There was too much going on, haha). Not to mention the people who work there and see things nearly every day. The thought excites me.
If I were a character in a horror novel or movie I'd be the one going to look for what made the noise, or going hunting for the monster. I probably wouldn't live long, but it'd sure be exciting, hunting the bump in the night.
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