Home Alone

It's happening, the phenomena of being home alone. 

I love my house. My mom has created a haven unlike anything I could have imagined. HOWEVER. The parents are out for the night and I am home alone. *Oh Snap.* Suddenly every sound is a footstep, avery light beam is some other worldly creature. "Is it nice? Malicious? Here to kill me? Need a pick me up?"

What the dogs don't know is that I have rallied them around me for courage. I cleverly shut the bathroom door where they love to sleep and have forced them to encircle me on the couch. It's probably from all the ghost talk I had with mom and Mindi about a week ago... Since when was this house built in the 70's? Why do I feel like I can hear 8mm film flickering somewhere? I should put on country music, no ghost would stick around for that. Why is it that the only night in a month that it storms in Baton Rouge is the night I'm home alone. I'll just have to pull a Kelsea and sleep with Hamilton the hammer under my pillow.

Oh boy, morning can't come soon enough! The power of the imagination is INCREDIBLE. I started thinking about that, how the brain can illicite an actual physical response from the body-sweating, pounding heart, heavy breathing, pretty powerful stuff. Therefore I am desperately trying to get the ghoulish face of a ghostly old man out of my head. Aha!! I'll watch cat videos! I bet even the ghoulish old man would get a kick out of those

Gloria

Modern Family is a TV show that I can't help but love. Meet Gloria, she kills me.

The Answer

     I stand with my computer in hand, screen propped up, balancing the bottom like a waitress. The charger, which Apple has managed to make as obnoxiously large as possible, is piled on my keyboard, along with my USB and phone.
"Come on Shaft!" He looks up at me from the couch with those pouty brown eyes. "Let's go outside!" His tail begins to beat against the leather as he slides off nice and slow, picks his toy squirrel up from the carpet, and follows me to the door. Holy bejeezus it is cold. I think the weather gods like to get drunk right around this time of year. I can see them up there, glass of some mystical drink, "Hey Ed, let's make it 40˚ tomorrow! That'll throw these gripy bastards for a loop!"

     So here I sit at the kitchen counter, watching Amelie stare outside through the lowest pane of the back door. If you open it, she goes halfway out, and when she realizes you're not going with her, she pauses, turns back around, and walks back in slow huff. And stares some more.
I started today with a bang, waking up with a call from Andrew, hopped right into applying for jobs and sending emails, and that's when I came across an email from Grandad. In the email he quoted St. Stephen, and at the end, asks us all the have hope for humanity. I loved that phrasing. People constantly want to argue, "you're wrong for thinking humanity is good, it's mostly bad." And then the counter argument  "Humanity is still good, there are some really bad humans out there, but as a whole, we're alright." Forget the argument. It's not about all good or all bad. Have hope, whichever way you lean, have hope. To address each person you encounter with hope, that's a strong, beautiful thing. To give them the occasion to rise up, that is the answer. 

Delightful

Don't say it was delightful; make us say delightful when 

we've read the description. You see, all those words 

(horrifying, wonderful, hideous, exquisite) are only like 

saying to your readers, "Please will you do the job for me."

-C.S. Lewis

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