Living in California has made me quite the woose. Last night I was sleeping when I heard some loud banging noises. My first thought was that someone was messing with the garbage cans. The room lit up and another loud boom hit. Thunder storm. No rain, just thunder and lightning. I went to the living room to check on the kittens. First storm for them. Then a really loud one hit. I said, "Fuck this shit" and jumped right back into bed. Jake had woken up to that one. We just listed to the storm for a bit, then drifted back to sleep. How odd that a grown person is transformed to a six year old when a little weather happens. Suddenly I was back in my old bedroom, with covers up to my ears just waiting for it to pass. When I'm up thunderstorms don't bother me as much. It's something about being in bed when it's happening that creeps me out.

I remember having a big window as a child. It was the normal window with a triangle of glass above it. We had these tall trees out front that swayed in the winds and made ghoulish shadows with it's branches. One time the Santa Ana winds were really bad and the 'monsters' looked as if they were coming to get me. I Laid in my pink canape bed, covers up to my ears and watched every sway. Suddenly there was a loud *snap* and the monster flew across the room. This sent me into a fit of screams that sent my dad dashing into the room buck naked. I slept in their bed for a week after that. Even seeing the tree laying across the driveway wasn't any consolation. There were two more ghouls out there and I wasn't about to be eaten by them. You'd never think I'd grow up to love horror films like I do.

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