I'd love a paranormal experience, I really would. Preferably a bit more Ghost (or even Truly, Madly, Deeply) than Sadako climbing out me telly but, yanno, beggars can't be choosers.
I love a bit of occult fiction, I'd love the world to be more exciting than it is and frankly I'd love to put on a ropey West Virgina accent and traipse around bumfuck-nowhere pulling black sludge demons out of my fellow townsfolk.
I'd love nothing more to team up with the local werewolf gypsy to go hunting upir and I could DEFINITELY tolerate travelling the country with Vera Farmiga, cleansing homes from spirits (and stating at her bum.)
But I'm just such a dick.
I've ruined countless childhood sleepovers by finding the source of that weird noise or explaining away that strange light, as even in my yoot I was eternally cynical.
It sucks. I've a wild and vivid imagination but my belief in the rational is verging on the fanatical and I do appreciate that that comes with a certain amount of arrogance. I have friends who believe and I try to respect their opinions but I'm appalling for sniggering sarcasm.
I'm well aware I'll be the first one dead if it ever turns out my life is a horror story. You know, I'll be that snarky bitch that's all "oh fuck off guys there's clearly nothing there. Look... !" *stabbed to death by masked weirdo.*
You tell me you've experienced the paranormal and I'll believe that you believe it, I'll believe weird shit happened to you (unless you claim to do magic spells and then we're going to argue) but you're never going to convince me that there was no scientific explanation. Sorry.
So, no, @rambo and @missy - no paranormal experiences, sorry. But if you ever want a friend to go in to the woods with you and keep your imagination grounded? Call the Sosbuster.
