I really really really really love horror movies. I love being scared. When I'm with another person, at least. At least one other person. Then, I can just assume, no matter how unrealistic it is, that they'll protect me.* When I'm alone, though, any noise is obviously something malicious and crazy.
The movie doesn't even have to be particularly good or realistic. I could even be watching something like this or this, and I'll just be giggling over how ridiculously ridiculous everything is, when there'll be some gust of wind and I'll be all, "oh, shit! A ghost!"
It's the worst when I have to get up and pass a mirror. At night, especially in that state of mind, I can barely even look at them. I pointedly don't, really. I think I might have watched an episode about them in Are You Afraid Of The Dark? back in the day that scarred me. Or it could be the fact that every horror movie ever, at least since the last million years, includes a creepy ghost or ax murderer popping up in a mirror, looking all evil and creepy. So, that's kind of what I expect. It's awkward.
But it's still a delicious feeling. As much as I prefer getting afraid with other people by me, there is something special about doing it alone. I'll be back in college, where alone time doesn't exist, on Sunday. I think I might actually miss that private terror. Of course, I'm totally excited, too. As much as I'll miss my Cape friends, I'm wicked stoked to see all the Camp Champ kids. Wow, this is a conflicted entry.
*Awkward true story time: when I was little I used to sleep with about 80 million dolls and stuffed animals on either side of me, so that if a monster came, he could eat them first, and hopefully be full by the time he got to me. And when I was five and we'd just moved from Rhode Island to the Cape, I insisted on sharing a bedroom with my little brother-- I probably figured that my twin brother'd be too annoying-- so that I wouldn't be alone. Like my infant brother could save me if anything happened. I was a weird child, I think.