Alone in the Night-ness

So I'm lying in bed, typling (yes, typling) away at my laptop, having an extremely difficult time being all by myself in such a big city. My boyfriend's gone away to be with his family in a town about 45 minutes away, and I'm stuck here in the city because I've got to work. (Pulling a double shift tomorrow, woohoo!)

I really can't believe how much difficulty I'm having being all by myself here. I mean, the quiet is killing me, and the night-ness of it all. I feel like I'm in some kind of horror movie and the next thing you know, my loved ones are being phoned because something unbelievably horrific has happened to me, and my arms are my legs, and my hair is shaved off... eech.

I phoned my boyfriend a couple of times today, and every time was progressively more distressed than the last. He doesn't seem too terribly fazed by it all. He seems pretty alright with the whole thing, I think its because he knows I'm overreacting and that I'm going to be fine, and that I'm being a touch on the girly, insecure side. But I'm realy serious about all this, I really am. I'm clutching my baseball bat for dear life because you never know what kind of monster is going to come parading through the front door in the middle of the night.

Needless to say, the surroundings are not doing much for giving me a sense of security. There are people running back and forth in the hallway, playing tag or something. I can hear two girls laughing, and something that sounds like its lumbering. Probably a chainsaw massochist. I mean, that's the most likely thing it could be.

I've got the TV on and it's somewhat comforting. This typing business is also a really great outlet for getting rid of some pent-up frustrations. I just wish I never had to be alone here at night time. I'm fine during the day! I'm totally fine, I'm completely safe because nothing bad happens in the sunlight. Everybody knows that.

But the night comes and suddenly everything is amplified by a million, every noise, every bang of the heater, every tick of the clock. A siren rings from the highway outside the building and my grasp on my duvet tightens, pulling the protective icing up over my head. Gah! I asked my boyfriend to come home, to protect me, but it's really not a very fair thing to ask.

Not that I'm not sincerely afraid! Because I am. It's just that I know that chances are, I've got nothing worth stealing, and I know for a fact that I'm not all that sex-ay, so there's nothing worth raping here either. Although, I mean, I don't know if rapists distinguish that sort of stuff. I'm not sure if they're all that picky about the sorts of people they... pillage.

He won't come, and that's okay. I won't get much sleep tonight, though, that's for sure. I have to work bright and early tomorrow morning, and to top it all off, I've got to walk there through the Winnipeg winter desert. And it's going to severely suck, especially since I'm estimating a solid three and a half hours tonight. That should carry me through a double shift! Fersher!

Ack. I'll stop ranting. You can't come rescue me.
But, fortunately, I've managed to enter this message before anything treacherous has happened, so, at least if something does, I'll have sent a last mournful message to the world.

Ooh, Sex in the City is on! Yay!