The scary story called "My Life"

Hello, hello,

This blog is going to get crazy, so prepare yourself. You may need a hand to hold, a blanket to cuddle, or a person to hug because it's about to get scary. Let me begin.

So,  here I am on a Saturday night. Sitting in my black, cushioned, computer chair with my legs crossed (indian style), slightly spinning back and forth as I do. My hands and mind are ever so delightfully occupied with my latest read So Long Insecurity by Beth Moore, and Chris Tomlin is playing in the background. THis, my friends, is true bliss. The perfect way to end what has already been a wonderful evening.

All of the sudden, I hear what sounds like a gun shot. I nearly jump 10 feet into the air, let out a piercing shriek, and land on my feet in warrior woman mode. Then I hear it again. By this time, I of course run to the bathroom door, which is only about two feet from me, and start banging on it as loudly as possible to get my beloved roommate out of the shower in time to clothe and get away from the murderer. "SOMEONE IS SHOOTING PEOPLE IN THE DORMS!" This is exactly what is going through this crazy mind of mine. Now, I'm devising an escape plan. First, I will tie some sheets to my bed. Yeah, that will work. Then, I'll begin climbing. "SARAH, SARAH!" I scream as I'm practically beating down the bathroom door with my fists. Then the sounds occurs one last time. It hits me. No, not a bullet, don't be silly. If that were the case, I wouldn't be writing this. My stupidity hits me. I look over to where I thought I the muffled gun shot sound was coming from. It wasn't a murderer at all, it was actually Sarah's little white refrigerator with a drawn picture of Jesus on it thanks to Emily. My mind is racing, as I'm realizing what exactly has happened, when I hear Sarah, "LORA, Lora! What's going on?" Do I inform her, so she doesn't worry? No. Of course not. I simply begin to laugh, and laugh, and laugh...excessively. Through my laughter I am trying to explain to Sarah that her fridge is so cold it is exploding her pops, but all that really comes out is laughter. And more laughter. Why? Because when I get nervous, I laugh uncontrollably. And this is what was happening.

This was, in fact, what just happened a bit ago. Moral of the story: have a better escape route planned in case of a murderer.

Alive and Well,

the Lone Woolf

The gun shots. 

Yeaaahh....