ghosties

Have you seen the movie Junebug?

I rented it last night. By myself. And I watched it - by myself. The last few weekends, by the time Sunday evening rolls around I've done so much reading my eyes hate me and my brain is spinning. And this week PaGa is even out of town so I have to rely on myself for entertainment (GeCo! You! Mind out of the gutter, lady). What better way to flake out than rent a movie?

So I did.

I've been wanting to see this one for a while - ever since I saw a preview and fell in love with their accents. (It's entirely possible that "junebuuug" is the cutest word in the entire world when said with that soft, southern sort of accent.) I was slightly deterred by whatsername's awful dress at the Oscars, it's true, but I somehow moved beyond my prejudice to reach out and grab it off the 7/24 video shelf.

Turns out it's not the quaint and light-hearted city-mouse-meets-country-mouse sort of flick I was expecting. It's the sort of movie you really ought to watch with someone because if you watch it by yourself you just end up asking "if he carved the bird and had it in his hand why didn't he just give it to her? And what's with the smoking? And do people really get married a week after they've met? And does every church in the world have the exact same basement?" and there's no one there to answer. Which is frustrating.

So instead of your brain being all delightfully post-tv mushy and ready for sweet sweet slumber, your brain is whirring and twisting and clicking away in your skull. But you do fall asleep. Eventually, that is. All the while seriously begrudging the fact that now you're only going to have five or so hours of sleep where you'd hoped to have a respectable eight (mom would be so proud).

Then all of a sudden your alarm says 5 and you can't tell from the light outside whether it's am or pm, but you do know that you've heard...something. Yawn, wiggle further into the blankets, start to fall back asleep...there it is again. Yup, a definite soft rustling, disturbingly reminiscent of a former mouse-ridden period in your apartment that you thought was long behind you. Oh God. Where is that noise coming from. Tired, ignore it. If I pretend it will go away. I can sleep through anything. Skootch further under the covers, start to relax...there it is again. Start to think about actually falling asleep but tense up at the knowledge that the mousemonsterkidnapper will most certainly take that opportunity to attack you. Finally wake up fully and throw your blankets off to stumble into your dark apartment and investiage...in your underwear, like all the famous explorers.

Discover that the mousmonsterkidnapper is in reality a lonely, empty plastic bag hanging from the doorknob of your bathroom, rustling gently in the breeze from the bathroom window you left open because it was so mild out.

According to the alarm clock, there's a whole 45 more minutes until it intends to shriek at me.

Might as well crawl into bed and think about Junebug some more...