Wherein I Prove Myself a Moron

As I spent last evening alone at my parents house I pursued the one course that would leave me nervous and jumpy for the entire night: I began watching a television show modeled after a horror film. Now, don't get me wrong - the plot was weak, the acting below grade, and it was less than an hour long.

But.

The storyline that included the living dead and pouding violently on locked doors was concerning as I began to hear little creaks and baby-pounds throughout the house. The basement is currently destroyed for remodeling which means that there was no sound insulation between the safe upper floor and the basement level of death, naturally. The only logical conclusion I came to during my hours of being too freaked out to sleep is that a zombie (of the living dead variety) had come into the house because I had probably left every single door unlocked (open? who knows!) and I would soon hear my dog running down the street in fear while I was left to fend for myself using only a pillow sham and an alarm clock of questionable quality.

And this is why I look the way I do every morning.