Prime-Time Paranoia

May 15, 2012

in Blame The Sudafed, OldSchool

I couldn’t go to sleep as a kid the nights I was thoroughly engrossed in my newest who-dunnit. Not if that book was in the same room as me. And not because I was too busy hiding under the blankets, reading by flashlight.

Ok, maybe a little.

No. I couldn’t go to sleep at night if that dog-eared paperback copy of the best of Nancy Drew was in the same room, because the boogey-man might jump out of the pages and get me. True Story.

I know. You thought I’d be referencing R.L. Stine, perhaps? Maybe even a little contraband Stephen King? Please. If I couldn’t even close my eyes because Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys had teamed up to catch Old Man Frost before he killed the town’s late harvest crops, do you really think I’d go for the hardcore?

So each night, once I had found a stopping point in which everyone was safe, or at least just missing, I’d creep out of bed just long enough to tuck the book snug against the baseboards in the hallway. As in, outside of my room. On the other side of a door which remained unlocked only because disobeying my mother was the one thing that scared me more than the boogeyman.

Then I’d run back to bed, pull the covers up under my chin and over my ears, and stick one foot outside of the covers. But still on the bed. Because you know a girl who just put the big, bad, scary book outside of her room for the night isn’t letting a single toe dangle temptingly over whatever’s hiding under the bed.

And while I don’t think the Big Man’s caught on as to why I don’t always bring my current read to bed with me, I must admit, I’m a crime-show junkie. CSI, NCIS, Law & Order (SVU, naturally), Criminal Minds – if it makes you feel like you could take on a sleazy defense attorney and his bimbo secretary with your eyes closed, then you can find it on my TiVo. DVR? Whatever the kids are using now a days to tape-over their parent’s sex tapes wedding vows.

So how is it that I and my delusions of paranoia can enjoy a good, solid crime drama, you ask?

Two words: Daytime. Marathon.

And there’s no tv in the bedroom.

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