Parenthesis and Poe

I'm tired and pooped out. And redundant, apparently. I've skipped Christmas Choir tonight (because I'm lame and lazy and feeling guilty because of it) and am now about to go to bed at 8:10. Feeling kind of rollercoaster"y" lately; just missing old friends from the 'Ham (that's Birmingham to all you non-Birmingham-ites), missing my family in FL (that's Florida for all you, uh, who neglected to memorize state abbreviations in Elementary School), and feeling smothered in activities (which I partly bring on myself and partly get because of work). I just made chocolate cupcakes with cream cheese icing (of course, the cream cheese icing is dyed orange and a candy corn is placed on each cupcake. You know, because it's fall) and I am feeling a leetle bit sick from snagging a bit of icing here and there (and here and there... and there and here... ugh. bleah).
So, after all that lovely, annoying complaining, I shall leave you (to go to bed) with some Poe. Because I love Poe. Some of you may not like Poe, and I'm sorry if you don't. Because he was a freakin' genius.



An excerpt from "The Tell-Tale Heart", which is one of the best short stories in the whole world. Ever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded -- with what caution -- with what foresight, with what dissimulation, I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night about midnight I turned the latch of his door and opened it oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern all closed, closed so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly, very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this? And then when my head was well in the room I undid the lantern cautiously -- oh, so cautiously -- cautiously (for the hinges creaked), I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights, every night just at midnight, but I found the eye always closed, and so it was impossible to do the work, for it was not the old man who vexed me but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed , to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

Ah, yes. It wasn't the old man who vexed you, I see, it was his evil eye. I can see now why you would want to murder him and then dismember him. Thanks for explaining. No, of course I don't think you mad. Who said you were mad? Certainly not me. I'm, um, just going out this way. No, you sit here and I'll, uh, be back, ummmm, later. Thanks.

Love it. Deliciously scarey, if you will.