My journey through irrationality

I am, at times, a completely irrational person. I have a very active imagination that most of the time does more harm then good. I am often concerned that killers lurk in places they don't, I so prepare myself for the possibility of being scared that it causes me to be scared more easily.

Case in point:
Sunday I was hanging out with my sister and flipping through the DVR. We decided to watch I Am Legend because she said it would be better if I watched it during the day with someone else. That should have been my first clue. Before I realized it truly was to creepy and scary for me to watch at all I was hooked and had to see it through.
Thus began my mounting suspicion that I'm being stalked by the undead. I would see things moving out of the corner of my eye, I would hear things creaking and see shadows where there were none. I have yelped more times then I can count in the last 2 1/2 days thinking that attack was imminent. The good thing is, the undead seem to be afraid of yelping scared girls.
I've showered hastily, sprinted room to room as I brave the house outside my fortress of solitude, my bedroom.
Last night when I got home from work, I had to force (FORCE) myself to run down the stairs and snag my work clothes from the dryer then yelping, I ran back upstairs.

But I finally convinced myself it's unlikely there are any undead lurking about my house. I settle down last night, cuddled up under my covers watching some Big Bang Theory when I hear it. A huge crash. It happened in the kitchen. It was the undead!

I jump out of bed, I look around and see that Gertrude is on the foot of my bed and Agnes is standing by the closet door so it is not them. Damn. That's one more clue pointing to the undead raiding my kitchen. I grab my cell phone, thinking that if it was the undead I would at least be able to call someone and let them know so they could alert the right authorities. I slowly open the bedroom door. I step into the hallway and yelp because I feel something hairy brush against my leg. It's Gertrude, only it's scared Gertrude. She has decided to accompany me to investigate the crash of the undead. Her ears are flattened against her head, she is army crawling with her belly to the floor, her hackles are raised and her tail is between her legs. (She acts more like a dog than some dogs I know). We creep, slowly and steadily down the hallway. I do Charlie's Angels jumps and twists in and out of the hall bathroom making sure no one is hiding behind the door or in the shower stall. I'm sliding along the wall, hoping to avoid detection by the undead as long as possible.
We get to the living room, I flip on the lamp and jump out of the hallway yelping all the way. Nothing is in the living room. Nothing is out of place. I spin quickly to investigate the kitchen and I see what has crashed.
My cookbooks that were standing up on the top of my cupboards have fallen (been pushed?) off and landed on the counter, the trash can, the floor. IT WAS THE UNDEAD!
After several harrowing moments of me hyperventilating and protecting my jugular I realize that there are probably no undead in my house. I walk over, pick up the cookbooks and stare at the still freaked out Gertrude trying to figure out what happened.

I go back to bed, start drifting off when my eyes fly wide open. OF COURSE!
I have squirrels in my walls, they obviously chomped through the drywall and ran across the top of my cabinets and are now running rampant through my house. :shudder:
Thus began a long and restless night that found me waking at every small sound convinced I was about to be attacked and eaten alive by squirrels.

I think I may need sedatives.