Oh it's early. I tried to sleep in.

Further evidence that cigarettes are bad, mister man: Last night after we returned from the movies (we spent so long trying to get in to see Signs and it was so very bad. But bad in that peculiar M. Night Shyamalan way of awfulness that I find deeply enjoyable. He is such an alien. Either that or he was raised by wolves. Because clearly he has no clue how people are. Bathsheba said, "that's the third worst M. Night Shyamalan movie I've seen." Ha.).

Forget it. Here's what happened. It was late. Shawn went to bed. I wanted a smoke. I opened my bedroom window and smoked with my head poked out. I finished. I got into bed. I left the window open to diffuse the air of any smoke-like smells. I drifted off into sleep amusing myself by replaying the most absurd parts of the movie in my mind (why on all that is human did the little Culkin boy have to kill the dog with a barbecue fork? Did no one think to tell M. Night that the title "Father" applies only to priests, not reverends? Don't worry. I'm not giving anything away. These things have nothing at all to do with the story.) Suddenly, I heard noises that sounded suspiciously like the aliens from the movie: a clicking and a whirring. A bat was flying about the room. I said "aah" quite loudly. Then I left the room. I slept on the couch. I hope the bat's gone now. I don't see it anywhere. But it is, after all, a bat. It's probably hiding.

Oops. Shawn's up. I'm off to the beach now. Cheerio.