Justified and ancient

My day consisted of such things as laboriously teaching my father to use the internet and solidifying plans to go to Meghan's tomorrow night and eat pizza and watch "Chicago," which may sound like something a couple of girls would do right before they watch a bunch of "Lifetime" and complain about their periods, but I'm going to do it anyway. And besides, I find talk of periods so stimulating! I don't know why so many guys get grossed out.

Ever since the the noisy kids next door moved away I've slept so much better. Nothing, it seems, disturbs my sleep anymore. Today I slept through the postman knocking on my door, two telephone calls, and Mexican Mama yammering at her brood like Speedy Gonzalez in a 'roid rage. My dad, of course, was not so lucky, unfortunately. He was sleeping well for a while but not so much these days. I worry about him.

Took Lesley her birthday presents tonight and made her quite happy. My mom always buys so much stuff for Lesley. I think she's become the daughter my mom never had. Lesley had way too much fun playing with the oven mitts we got her. Let's just say I don't think she's exactly ready to box with Muhammad Ali's daughter yet. Afterwards, we went for a walk and passed a house with one of its garage windows spray-painted from the inside with an eerie shade of dark red. Given the resemblance to blood and the fact the street was deserted at the time besides us, it looked like something out of "Silent Hill." If you even remotely understand anything about "Silent Hill" or my fixation with it, you will see how this creeped me out immensely. It was the same feeling I got for about a month after I watched "The Ring" whenever I would walk past a darkened office at work with a glowing computer monitor inside.

Once the horror movie ended, I ate an Italian sandwich, came home, took a nap, came to work and then came here. Go me! I am an accomplishment-making machine! What I wish I had was a sandwich-making machine. That Italian sandwich was good. Now I just had two of the night cleaning staff walk through talking about catfish and gumbo. I used up my last 75 cents on a bag of cheetos from the snack machine. That was ten minutes ago and the talk of cajun's got my stomach rumbling again. It will be nearly five hours before I'm free of this place and can gorge myself to my heart's content. If only someplace served catfish for breakfast. If only.

The only thing more annoying than wanting catfish at four-thirty a.m.

...Is wanting to research serial killers at four-thirty a.m. I remember the days before I had this job and I'd stay up until, well, until about now and darn near every night I could guarantee that A&E or the Discovery Channel or something like that would run some juicy episode of "American Justice" or "Forensics Files" featuring the tale of a serial killer. Great or small, famous or obscure, it was there and I just took it for granted, just pissed it away like so much of my youth. *sigh* Granted, I could just net search to my heart's content with the computer right in front of me, but I *am* working and somehow I just think that's probably the last thing I need to slogging into H&R Block's Cookies file.

Don't ask me why I'm fascinated by this stuff. I'm not some violent misogynist who gets off on autopsy reports or garbage like that. I think deep down there's just a part of me that really wanted to be a detective or forensics specialist. Early on in college it was a serious toss-up for me between going into sociology/psychology and art/theatre. Well, we all know what I chose, now don't we? Not saying I regret it, of course. I don't at all. But there's still a part of me that yearns to crusade for justice and protect the world from bad people and I think it will always be there. Hopefully this will never lead to greater problems like writing hack detective novels of my own free will.