Here We Go Again

I've mentioned in numerous recent posts that I have a terrible habit of going onto things and then falling off of things. On again. Off again. On again. Off again. One week, I want to run the straight and narrow; to eat, drink, sleep, and breathe everything that is literary and of suggestive and supposed merit. All Joan Didion and The Republic. The films of Merchant/Ivory and the works of Marcel Proust. I try to engulf as much of what I consider high brow as possible.

And then something happens.

The trailer above, for example.

And I'm instantly transported back to the roots of my love for everything literary and cinematic and creative: the world of horror and thrillers and science fiction and fantasy. A world where witches really do roam the grounds at Satan School out on Ellerbe Road and a small family of three inhabits the attic space through the door just outside my bedroom (and hordes of as-yet-unnamed creatures creep along the interior of the crawlspace beneath my closet). A world of Stephen King and the evil, shape-shifting thing from Peter Straub's Ghost Story. A world where the music of Goblin gets me to and from work, where I lay in wait for another horror movie to hit the theater, and where I get back on track with my goal for Stephen King in 2013 to occupy most of the space of this blog.

Do I pick up the small paperback copy of Night Shift (what story am I on? "The Mangler," I think), or do I finish Orange is the New Black (the book club meets this Saturday night after the silent auction for Tri-State at the Highland Club)?

I know one thing: this trailer, teaser that it is, makes me hungry for brown leaves, foggy mornings, and the wonders that are the days leading up to Halloween.

Who am I to forsake my roots for Piper Kerman? Haven't I already read enough?