I returned home on Christmas Eve with a quarter of ham and better presents. I went shopping early enough in the day that the crowds didn't make me want to commit seppuku. On the drive home I listen to John Denver and The Muppets. I wrapped presents while watching Clue, a tradition I stole from Amy Witherby. My aunt's boyfriend brought me two packs of Stella and my mom confessed she had one waiting in the fridge for me. They know me too well.
Christmas went off without a hitch. Everyone liked everything. I now have a game system that I can stream Netflix to which will only increase my agoraphobia. I took a long nap and watched a Buffy marathon on some slasher cable channel. I did two baskets of laundry. Knitted until my hands ached. Finished Y: The Last Man. I would escape when things got too loud, dick around on the internet. Played Mario. Stole lots of ham to take home. Read a little.
Around the time I began violently sneezing because of the cats I decided to go home. I ate popcorn. Watched almost two whole seasons of Primeval. Am currently watching Star Wars on cable. For once, it's nice being alone in the house. Usually I get a paranoid feeling when I'm alone in the house, like someone is watching me or out to get me. I've always had this fear, since I was little, that my life will turn into a horror movie.
A creep getting creeped out.