getting over it

If you hear that I was beaten up, raped and chopped up into canabalistic-bite-sized pieces, know this: I was onto the killer. I suspected he was in my house. He shouldn't have walked around my house and moved things around. You know how the blind function at home? They know where things are, they know how they left certain things, they KNOW if someone has been there. The blind count their money by the size and the shape, and systematic folds on the corner of the notes. I can tell if people have been through my home if when they're not very good at covering their tracks.

You fucked up when:
*You left the toilet seat up. (so... note to whoever reads this, if i get chopped up, the killer was a man... unless there's more than one killer.)
*You drank some of my milk. seriously. what's up with that? You didn't use a glass either. Some people would say this is a sign that it's a man too... but I do that at times. It's my milk. What do I care?
*You ate some of my sour sugary things. (it's okay, i'm not that big a fan of them.)
*You left the spare bedroom door open.

I actually did check the rooms of the house to make sure nobody was hear, and even checked under a bad until I felt like a knob... so I stopped. But the psycho-freak in my head is telling me: "Well, Hil, that's great, the killer was under bed number two, and you could have hurt him quite badly with that heel you were brandishing like a mashete..." (ahh yeah, I sadly admit, my weapon of choice was one of my new heels.- I really do think that could do some damage.)

Okay. I'm signing off because i'm tired. If he takes me during the night - Goodbye All. You're better than you think you are. x