I’ve been mostly disturbed this weekend so far. Firstly I learnt about The Human Centipede. I had heard of this before (apparently a big deal when people first became aware of it. For those who do not know what it is, do not click the link above. For those that do, I need not explain myself. I had assumed it was something generally a bit weirdly gross and sexual but when I asked my OH ‘What’s the Human Centipede all about again?’ before bed last night, I was not prepared for the response. It took me a good half an hour to stop staring into space with a troubled look on my face, reluctantly asking questions about details of the film while becoming more and more horrified. I think I am losing my imperviousness to schlock horror.
I used to LOVE horror films, and although I am still ok with ghosts and demons and the like, actual things that people do to each other I find infinitely more horrible. I survived most of the Saw films (though with the later one the ‘survival’ element is more related to the quality of the film rather than the level of horror), but won’t watch Hostel. I have started to really empathise with the characters in these films, and start to think ‘oh my goodness how would you feel if you had been captured by a madman and mutilated?’ and really freak myself out. Is this yet ANOTHER example of me getting old? I hope not.
The other source of disturbance was arrived at OH’s house and having a sudden realisation of the amount of stuff we own, which we somehow next week have to fit into just the one house. I keep staring at piles of boxes with a troubled look on my face, and he did at one point ask if I was crying (I was not). I’m assured that, as things go away in wardrobes and cupboards and the like, it will all be fine. But I have started to have images in my head of those people on Life of Grime.
Well, at least I didn’t dream about human centipedes and piles of boxes. I dreamt about Nathan Fillion. Nathan Fillion make it AAAALLL better.