Giving Stephen King his What For

Posted on | October 29, 2010 | 8 Comments

I have an overactive imagination. Always have had. When I was a little girl, my Aunt was spending the night at our house. She got up and went downstairs and asked my mother just how many friends I had over that morning. My mother looked a little confused.

“None?” She side-eyed my Aunt.
“But I heard several different children talking!”
“Oh, no. That’s just her. All her Fisher Price little people have different voices and back stories.”

Yep. I was THAT kid.

So it’s no wonder that my best friend and worst enemy are all tangled up together in the mess that is my mind. I can pretty much convince myself of anything.

When I was just a wee Law Daughter, I was convinced that the Boogey man lived in my house. He could change forms and was often “seen” as Elliot, Pete’s Dragon, when in his invisible state. I could totally convince myself that there was a giant, invisible dragon standing in the corner, watching my every move. Of course, it didn’t help that my sister egged this on by telling me she could actually see him and order him around. Her orders, by the way, were always wicked and involved things like “If my sister even THINKS about pretending she is Snow White or Cinderella while I’m at preschool today…. eat her.”

As I got older, I didn’t so much worry about the boogey man, zombies, or other spooky and/or ghoulish types. My mind got a little more advanced. A little more frightful. A tad bit… Stephen King’s Worst Nightmare Spooky, to be honest.  Sometimes I think my mind could totally eff up Stephen King. (side note: Did anyone else watch that horrifying “When a Stranger Calls” movie? Because that screwed me up for YEARS).

And it’s always the worst when I’m alone. Like today.

Normally? I love nothing more than taking a shower when I don’t have to. You know, not in the mornings to get ready for work, or after the gym… just… because. You can relax, take your time, and in general have peace and quiet for a bit. But when I’m by myself, the shower is a terrifying place. In our apartment, the bathroom door doesn’t lock. This shouldn’t be a big deal to most people but to me? It’s a HUGE deal.

On a normal day, I can forget that the door doesn’t lock and rush through my shower to get ready for work. But today? No can do. I was super pumped about taking a long, hot shower. But about mid-way through Conditioner, I remembered the bathroom door doesn’t lock. Then I remembered I hadn’t checked to see if the back door was locked. Then I remembered that my mind is a cruel and cold-hearted biznatch.

I started to think how horrible it would be if a crazy lady was wandering the apartment complex and stumbled into my apartment. I thought about how she would probably be humming to herself.. you know, because she’s crazy. And then I swear to you, I could HEAR humming. I was all “Oh God. I made this happen. I thought about the crazy humming lady and now she’s in the bathroom!”

And when you get to that point, really? What do you do? You don’t want to look. Because maybe the scary humming lady doesn’t realize there’s someone else there. And you don’t want to NOT look, because maybe there is no scary humming lady. So I was sort of petrified. Standing there butt ass naked trying not to make a sound but straining to see if there was humming. Then I started trying to figure out what I could use for a weapon if there was, indeed, a scary humming lady in my bathroom.

Are you full on howling with laughter at me yet? Because I’m just. that. crazy. Luckily, I managed to tell my mind to shut up, finish my shower (albeit VERY quickly), scan the room for scary humming ladies (of which there were none), and get back to normal.

But the mind? It is a terrible, terrible thing to use… when you’re showering. Alone. With a door that doesn’t lock.

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