Sunday, I settled onto the couch
wanting to just veg while I mapped out the coming week’s blog posts. I had my coffee, pen, paper and some
microwave heated wings leftover from the costume party the night before. Each of the girls was off doing her own
thing, leaving me to my own entertainment.
I turned on the television, hit viewing guide and began to scan my
choices. Usually, there’s an NCIS
marathon, or Law and Order: SVU, some type of criminal mischief to be solved by
any number of franchises out there.
However, the Sunday before Halloween was a movie marathon of
horror. Not just on one channel, mind
you; oh no, it was on every channel.
Friday the 13th. Chucky. Nightmare on Elm Street. They were even broadcasting the making of the
Nightmare movies. I either had to settle
for frightening viewing or football, which to me is the opposite of
frightening; it’s boring.
I know there are vast numbers of
individuals who thrive on having their wits scared senseless, and as much as I
love scaring the heebie jeebies out of people, you would think that I would be
in that number. I’m not. It’s not about the blood, either. We usually watch shows like Criminal Minds or
Bones while eating dinner, which usually has blood and disemboweled bodies
throughout. We sit there munching away,
unbothered by the gruesome mess on the screen.
It’s also not the horrendous
murder scenes. I’ve sat through Jaws and
Jurassic Park, rooting for the animals as they ripped off human appendages,
using the bones as toothpicks. I’ve sat
through war movies where bullets did the same damage. None of that bothered me.
No, it’s none of those
things. What keeps me from being a
horror movie buff is the intense scare factor. Some love that feeling, the
quickening of the heart rate, tensing of the chest and rabid breathing. I don’t.
I won’t walk through a haunted house for the exact same reason. I prefer calmness in my life and a steady,
normal heart rate. I choose not to go to
places or watch movies that are going to disrupt that normal, peaceful beat; I
choose not to ride roller coasters for that same reason. I hate the feeling it gives me.
I love decorating for Halloween,
the scarier I can make the decorations, the better. However, that’s as far as I want to go in the
realm of fright. I want it predictable
and on my terms. Life itself has enough
scary, unpredictable things about it to go looking for more. I’m not criticizing those who enjoy that
feeling and go in search of it. We all
have those things we get a thrill from.
However, for me, this isn’t one of those things.
I have friends that are into
zombies and related gore, and I’ll admit to having to write the occasional
death scene between Rhychard Bartlett and the demons of the Void. Yet, I prefer to deal in life. I want the
rush of dealing with the living, not having the life scared out of me. There is enough evil without looking for it.
After finding all of my normal
viewing delights usurped by horror fest, I went to the 8-year old’s favorite
channels and became lost in the silly antics of animated cartoons. I had more fun laughing than I would have
cringing behind the sofa pillow, and I felt better for it. Here’s to laughter. Here’s to the living.
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