Runs in the family, I guess.

I was hanging out with my brother and my sister-in-law a couple nights ago, catching up, filling them in on my fox situation, stuff like that.  Although I guess it's my lack of a fox situation now, whatever.  So we get a few drinks in, and he starts telling me about how he's been having some weird sleep issues lately, and that it's been off and on since we were kids. 

My jaw about hit the floor, once I realized he wasn't joking.  Sleep paralysis.  Nightmares.  The six million animals they own waking him up in the middle of the night, freaking out about absolutely nothing.  I mentioned the nightmares I'd been having, and we rambled on about how weird that was for a few hours before I had to get home.  I chose not to bring up the monster in my room when we were kids.  I doubt he would have remembered anyway. 

So now either we're both crazy sleep-disorder sufferers, or this thing is stalking my brother, too.  Joy. 

Rest in peace, mister fox.

I found the other fox, the male.  Spread out on my front lawn like a snow angel.  If snow angels were made of gore and grass.  It was the first thing I saw after I walked out of my front door this morning as I headed to work.  It was an early shift, so none of my neighbors were even up yet.  I called the Humane Society again after I got to work and pulled myself together enough to be coherent.  I wound up having to leave work early, as I was so rattled that I was pretty much worthless to everyone.  I got home just in time to see the HS cleanup van leaving my parking lot.  The grass was stained dark from what was left of the fox.  I hurried inside so I wouldn't have to look at it anymore. 

It's raining now, thankfully.  But what or whoever killed my foxes wanted me to see this.  At least, that's my prevailing theory, I don't have any proof.  It could have just been a horrific coincidence.  Or there really is a monster out there that's letting itself into my house in the middle of the night and slaying anything that it might view as a competing predator.  Clearly I need more sleep, as my imagination won't stop generating insane fantasy scenarios to insert some logic into a situation that has none. 

I'm going to stop for now, my neighbor's basset hound won't stop freaking out on the lawn.  And it's giving me a significant headache.  At least my brain and my heart feel the same now. 

I don't remember going to bed.

What I do remember is the sensation of something heavy on my back, raspy breath and the feeling of something sharp digging into my shoulders.  Like needles, or knives.  I was completely frozen.  Not a twitch of the ear, not a raise of the eyebrow, not even a wiggle of the fingers.  I was stuck.  And the voice, my god, the voice.  It whispered in my ear, the feeling something between the sweet nothings of a lover, and the empty platitudes of someone about to slaughter an animal.  I don't remember words, only impressions.  No idea what was said other than dread pitting my stomach and fear sweating out cold and slow over my skin.  Were my eyes open?  Or was it just so dark I was incapable of making out anything?  A faraway part of me vaguely wondered if I'd kicked off my covers.  But that part was like an ant scurrying around the feet of whatever terror gripped the rest of me.

I woke up bleeding from my shoulders, as if some wild animal had dug in and refused to let me go.  I seem to be going through bedtime shirts like kleenex.  Or bandages. 

The last time I had a nightmare that vivid, I was six.  That's well over two decades ago, and that's as close as you'll get to me giving out my age here.  It was almost identical, actually, that was what made me remember it.  I was in my room, supposedly safe in bed.  I thought I'd woken up in the middle of the night to something crouching on my back, whispering horrible things I couldn't remember in my ear.  Again, nothing distinct, just a sense that whatever owned the voice would be doing awful things, terrible things, to me and everyone I knew.  I remember crying to my mother in the morning that something had been in my room that night.  She made a show of her and my dad going through my room, of course.  To prove that no one had come in my second-story window, or was hiding under my bed, or in my closet.  My brother was four, he had no clue what was upsetting me so much.  I don't think he let go of my hand while my parents searched every square inch of my room.  One I was satisfied that my parents were right, I don't remember having that nightmare again.  Hell, I'd completely forgotten about it until...well until this bullshit started.

I'm sure the scratches are psychosomatic, there was no skin or blood under my nails.  Moving my arms hurts like a bitch right now, though.  At least I can hide this particular injury under my work clothes.  And of course this freaked me out enough that I checked my door: shut and locked, just like I'd left it after I got home. 

I think that's all for now.  I'm going to go have a moment of zen and a cigarette on my porch.

Can't sleep again...

I don't keep liquor in the house because I'm afraid I'd turn into one of those sad alcoholics that drinks at home, alone.  Even if passing out drunk would mean rest of some sort, I don't want to turn into that.  I figured since I shared my hangups about pills, I'd go ahead and share my hangups about booze.  It's only fair, right?  Right. 

My unidentified predator is making noise again.  I'm past thinking it's a person, because no way could a human being make noises like that.  What really bothers me is that when I ask my neighbors if they've heard it, none of them have.  And this isn't some shifty-eyed evade the question kind of response, I can tell they legitimately have no clue what I'm talking about.  Which means the noise is real and is only meant for me, or I've walked into hallucination country and missed the signpost somewhere along the way.  Neither option thrills me, really. 

I haven't seen the other fox around, and I stopped putting food out once his counterpart got mauled.  I hope he's okay, that he ran for the foothills or another neighborhood that lacks big scary monsters.  The fact that I'm discussing monsters as if they were a fact and not a product of my fatigued brain also doesn't alarm me as much as it should.  I'm choosing to blame the internet for no good reason. 

Now if you don't mind, I'm going to putter around my house until I either collapse from exhaustion or the noises stop. 

I should really know better...

...than to post while intoxicated.  My apologies. 

I figured the weird animal noises I've been hearing were due to whatever killed foxie sticking around looking for more food.  And possibly nibbling on her corpse, but...ew.  So a few days ago I called the Humane Society (after asking my sister-in-law what to do about the dead animal out in the field), and they sent someone out to take care of the remains while I was at work.  It made me feel a little better, as I didn't have to take the long way to work to avoid looking at her. 

As for my mystery predator, I have NO idea what the thing was making all that noise.  I went through sound clip after sound clip trying to puzzle it out.  Not a bear, not a cougar, not a raccoon, wolf, coyote, or even a badger.  And I have serious doubts about it being a dog or a cat, especially since I ruled out the bigger stuff.  Which means it's either an animal I haven't thought of yet...or it's a person.  But since I haven't heard anything since my little Wasty the Clown impression, maybe if it was a person, they've moved on.  Or got bored.  Whatever. 

I'm all scabbed over, but the cuts I had are healing nicely.  I hardly ever scar, so I'm not too worried about that.  It's nice not having my coworkers make "emo cutting" or "Edward Scissorhands" jokes at my expense anymore, that was fun.  And by fun I mean annoying. 

It was also sad that passing out drunk may have given me the best night of sleep I've had in months.  At least it felt that way once I chased away the hangover.  No nightmares, no sleep paralysis, no leaving my front door open (that one's a miracle, considering how drunk I was).  Makes me wonder how much rest I can get before my liver runs off to find a healthier host. 

lil drunk

but after the shitty couple of weeks ive had, i think i deserve some fun  right?  right

barely paid for any of my drinks, danced my ass off, and giggled all the way home from denver.  good thing tiffany was driving, otherwise i would have had to crash at someones house down there.  which would mean id have no clean clothes and had to sleep in my contacts.  ew

im gonna sleep nao, if the stupid aminals will keep quiet outside. 

Nightmare.

As mentioned in a previous post, I don't usually remember my dreams.  So that's why this one kinda stuck with me, and not in a good way.  Especially since this one was so realistic I found myself doubting it was a dream after I got up.

I was "asleep", and while in bed I slowly became aware of something else in the room with me.  I held still for what felt like hours, not wanting whatever was there to know that I was not "asleep."  I could hear noises, like an animal shuffling around at the end of my bed, with the occasional wet grunt coming from it, or a dull padding on my carpet.  I was frozen with fear, it was all I could do to keep my breathing from rasping out of control.  After what felt like days, I eventually heard the noises stop, and I sat up.  Nothing was there, and the neighborhood was eerily quiet.  And I was dripping with sweat, shaking like a teacup chihuahua. 

Like I said, part of my brain thought this might have actually happened.  So it didn't help that I noticed my front door was just hanging open when I got up this morning.  Nothing else in my house was disturbed, there was no sign that anything had actually wandered into my room.  I'm locking my door from now on, I really should have known better.  I'm partially grateful the cuts on my arms and back distracted me by aching, prompting me to change the bandages on them.  It meant I had something to focus on that wasn't a Bogeyman/rabid animal/rapist in my house.  So, hooray for that, I guess. 

We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

Yes, I just dropped a Wizard of Oz reference on you.  I'm weirded out, humor me.

This time of year, before it gets too cold to do so, I tend to sleep with my bedroom window open.  I'm usually lulled to sleep by the sounds of distant traffic, the occasional late night return of a neighbor, and more frequently, the foxes playing out in the field behind my condo.  But ever since the she-fox died, the poor thing, I haven't been hearing much of anything.  Until last night.

I could not begin to tell you what animal was making the noises I heard last night.  All I can tell you is that they were highly unnerving, and kept me up for at least half the night.  I've heard that coyote cries are creepy as hell, but I found videos online and lemme tell ya, this thing (very sure it was only one animal) sounded nothing like a coyote.  Not even a little.  I may have some idea of what tore up my sneaky little dinner guest now, and it sounded big.  I checked the news for reports of a bear or a cougar possibly coming down from the mountains, seeing as we're just in the foothills, but I didn't see anything.  Maybe I can talk to my brother and his wife about what could make a noise like that.  She works in a vet clinic specializing in wildlife, and my brother sometimes goes along to help her out.  They might have a better idea than me, knowing would make it seem a lot less scary.  I need to ask her what to do about my mauled little friend anyway. 

It gets better.  After I actually did get to sleep, I had another bout of horrifying sleep paralysis.  Super fun!  And by "fun" I mean "awful."  Nothing I have tried has worked, and I'm still skeptical of trying medication.  I kinda like my brain the way it is.  I've heard horror stories about what Ambien does, I can only guess what would happen if I tried pills for this.  I must have slept rough before that, too, as I apparently had kicked the covers completely off the bed by the time I was awake and able to move.  I even knocked some of the knickknacks off the windowsill above my bed.  I'd apparently flopped around enough that I cut myself on some broken glass or something.  Nothing that needed stitches, thankfully, but I'm taking down all the heavy and breakable stuff from up there just in case.  My sheets made it look like I'd been murdered.  Joy. 

Luckily, I didn't have work today.  Which means after I calmed the hell down from my awful, awful morning, I got to do...absolutely nothing.  It was grand, after I managed to bandage everything up.  I'm now going to continue this lazy-ass trend and call this post done.  Later!