That Warm, Fuzzy Feeling

Sunday morning found me helping make pancakes, right along with my mom, my sister and my 9 year-old niece. We managed to make three different flavors: plain (of course!), peanut butter and Oreo. That last one was supposed to be chocolate chip pancakes but we improvised. The first batch was a disaster, thanks to the stubbornness me and my sister have. We insisted on not throwing in eggs. The batter was so thick that it didn’t turn out well. My mom remedied the two other flavors and the rest of us enjoyed the pancakes without having our taste buds slaughtered. Lesson learned: Mothers do know best. Well, most of the time anyway.

We were joined by my 10 year-old nephew in demolishing the pancakes. It was during that time that he expressed interest in stories of the supernatural. And I think we had a conversation going on for nearly an hour. It was quite a sight, really. My nephew sitting across me, eating his pancakes and talking to me and looking like he was thoroughly enjoying the moment. I was almost tempted to show him a YouTube clip, the one wherein the face of that girl in Exorcist suddenly pops up with a background music that scared even little old me. Made me nearly fall out of the chair I was sitting on. But. But since I am kindhearted and I have a conscience, I didn’t. Instead, what I did was whip out a book which had dozens and dozens of short stories about ghosts and witches and otherworldly creatures. To my surprise and delight, he actually read it. Not everything but still. There goes another moment.

Today it’s back to waking up early in the morning, sleep mid-morning and then wake up early in the evening to get ready for work. My job entails working in the night so by the time Saturday morning rolls in, I’m a zombie. You wouldn’t want to talk to me, then. Trust me. I am not too far from what I am when I’m drunk: I feel like the world is a happy, happy, HAPPY place and I feel like giving everyone whatever it is that makes them happy. I don’t make sense, even to myself. So much so that when I wake up Saturday night and find out I’ve given away someo f my money, I would groan and stare at my wallet thinking “What the hell?”

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Author: Anna

A 30-something female awed/delighted/floored with anything horror. Known to kick-start her days with coffee. Indulges in chocolates, blogging, writing, and reading. Attracted to the offbeat and the quirky / the odd and the strange / the weird and the eerie.

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