Escaping Midnight Haunts: my story

"The Lord will protect you from all evil. He will keep your soul." Psalm 121:7

I am about to talk about a bizarre-o topic, and you may seriously start to question my brain processes, but I want to share this with you, because surely there is someone like me out there who has suffered from the same sort of torment I have. You can be rescued.

Sometimes dreams can be funny or lovely. Other times they make you not want to fall asleep, for fear of what may come.

Of all people, my friend Natalie knows of my wacked out dreams the best. We're not talking I was being chased by a purple people eater while wearing a tutu on the beach. I'm talking people straight up trying to kill me in my dreams. People that I know. I have had dreams of being pursued my viscous animals, of haunting demonic beings seeking me out, of being hung naked from the limb of a tree to die. I have drowned in my dreams, I have died in my dreams, I have been in car crashes, been buried in icy avalanches, and watched people I love take their last breath in front of me. In my dreams wolves and dogs have chewed on my arm, men have molested me, and fear has paralyzed me so much that I cannot even yell for help. It's not exactly the REM cycle people look forward to.

I have had these wacked out dreams for as long as I can remember. I used to have a reoccurring dream that I cannot even describe as anything but terrible since age six. I lived with it for years and years. Just when I thought it was gone, it would come back to haunt me as a college student sleeping in my extra long dorm room bed.

You're probably like "Joelle, lay off the mushroom consumption." I never understood where these terrible nightmares came from, because it's not like anything in real life like that ever happened to me. But I dreamt it so often it started to feel like reality. My own brain was not a safe place at night.

In February of 2011, I started to take non-prescription sleep pills because my job was stressing me out so much that I would wake up at 3am from a frightful dream of battling children who were foaming at the mouth. The pills helped me stay asleep, and they eased some of the intense dreams, but I was still getting chased on a nightly basis.

It was then that I decided to do a bit of dream research to figure out how I could control my dreams. I did things like speak into a voice recorder as soon as I woke up, and I would tell myself as much as I could about the dreams I remembered in order to improve lucidity. I tried all sorts of tricks to be able to distinguish between reality and my dream state, kind of like how Leonardo DiCaprio had that spinning top in the movie Inception.

I would pray before bed, I would read my Bible before going to sleep, but nothing worked. Then I tried something else. I found a very short verse about being protected by God, and I would say it over and over and over in my head while waiting for slumber. My goal was to have it so ingrained in my memory that I would think to say it in my dreams when I was being chased or under attack.

I read another strategy on-line about how you should confront the thing that is after you and ask it why it is trying to hurt you. I had no idea how I would make that happen, because who could  subconsciously remember to confront the enemy in a dream, when my most natural instinct was to get away or hide?

Is this taking it too far? Am I getting too weird for you? Drawing by Kaless Aradan.

As I continued with the audio narratives of the dreams that I remembered, and as I committed to memory Psalm 121:7, I tried really hard to attempt a dream confrontation.

One night it finally happened. I won't get into all of the details, but I finally was able to not be paralyzed, to be able to speak, and I yelled "Why are you after me? What do you want from me?" The people trying to kill me had nothing to say. They turned and left.

I woke up and was like "WHOA, DID THAT REALLY HAPPEN?" My bad dreams had never resulted in an ending like that. Usually I died or drowned, or I woke up from the nightmare. Never ever had the pursuer left me alone.

I felt really good that day, like I had won a battle, even if it had been in my subconscious mind.

Then came the first time I was able to recite scripture during a bad dream. I was in a dark cavern, being pursued by a band of creepy men, when I realized that what I should do is say my verse. One of the men got close to me and I shouted in his face THE LORD WILL PROTECT ME FROM ALL EVIL. HE WILL KEEP MY SOUL! I shouted it over and over, and then I stepped into a beautiful place where there was no one but me. I was safe.

Since those first times of confronting my midnight haunts, I have said Psalm 121:7 many times in my dreams. A few months after my "breakthrough" the dreams that threatened my life stopped.

I think what was the most important was that I believed in my awake state that if I said a Bible verse in my sleep, that it would save me. And what was important while I was dreaming was that I remembered the words to the verse.

I have funny dreams now. Or happy dreams. I still have some really weird dreams, but no one has tried to kill me in them. I am not fleeing from the haunts of my hippocampus.

So if you are a person who has terrible dreams where you are in danger of death or physical pain, I highly recommend that you memorize Psalm 121:7 and say it over and over before you go to bed. It has been my battle weapon, and it has never failed to rescue me from danger.

We are under Satan's attack even when we are sleeping, but more importantly, God is with us and protecting us, even in our dreams.

The Lord will protect me from all evil. He will keep my soul.

Dick and Jane and Vampires

I was at the library picking out some first grade level books for Azarious, the 17 year old boy I tutor. If you don't know Azarious' background story, read that here.

The problem with having a teenage boy read children's books is that he's not very interested in them. We read things like Splat the Cat and Fox in Sox. So when I found Dick and Jane and Vampires, I really thought I had hit the jackpot. Sure, it wasn't Twilight, but Azarious probably isn't in to that whole Bella-is-obsessed-with-a-man-with-no-pulse thing. Nevertheless, I couldn't resist grabbing the book from the shelf.

I opened the book and looked at a few pages. My first thought was "Oh #$%!  *$@&; and @#$%^# they let children read this?" You'll see what I mean. I wanted to scan all of the pages to show you, but I'm pretty sure I'd be breaking copyright laws if I did that.

This guy wants to suck your blood.

Hey Jane, there's a vampire head in the bushes. But it's no big deal, I've seen worse.

There's a bat and it's going to bite you on the neck and infect you and steal all of your toys!

 

Children think monsters live under their beds because we enforce the belief through literacy.

It is important to teach little girls that we won't believe them when they tell us they saw something creepy. Instead of acknowledging them and believing they are telling the truth, tell them they are a slob instead.

Holy &*@! Let's just terrify children while they learn to read.

Stop, Drop, and Hide Under a Blanket

If someone is coming up your driveway, the obvious action that you need to take is to hide from them. My sister and I did this all the time growing up. I was reminded of these antics last Saturday night when I was at Jessy's house watching Robots on TV. Jess was working at her desk making dog collars and every time a commercial came on, Travis would change the channel back to football. We heard a car door shut outside.

"Somebody's here." Jess said. "Quick, hide!"

I laughed and we continued to joke about when we were children left home alone in our country house. Sometimes I think Travis has no idea who he married. He sure learns a lot about his wife's quirks when I'm around.

Jessamy and I grew up in the boondocks. Our private road was a half mile long and made of gravel, which made for bumpy bicycle rides. Our house sat tucked safely on the other side of the hill, nestled among mighty oak and fir trees.

People didn't drive to our house often. If an unfamiliar person made his way to our house, it was either someone who was A) lost or B) there to rob or murder us. My mother would leave us for an hour or so when she had to go to town and buy groceries or whatever and Jess and I would be in the living room playing Legos or building model horse barns out of cardboard boxes when we would spot a car driving down to the house. "Quick, someone's coming!" One of us would yell.

We would then make sure the door was locked, flip off all the lights, and go hide. Most of the time we would hide in my parents' bedroom and spy out their window, because there was a giant bush in the way and it prevented us from being spotted from the kidnappers.

[You better believe when my sister and I finally attended public school, we were experts at the armed intruder drills. We dropped to the floor out of the line of sight of the window and spoke not a word.]

We sat breathlessly listening for the knock at the door. It would come, and we would wait, wondering if the person was going to start picking the lock in order to get in and steal my mother's Cherished Teddies collection. When we heard the car start up again and leave, we breathed a sigh of relief but waited an extra minute before emerging. You know, in case it was a fake-out.

It may be interesting for you to know that I still do this at my house, even though I am a grown woman. I will be sitting at my desk (which is near the front window) typing an e-mail to an associate, when I will see someone coming down the lane. I might immediately drop to the floor and army crawl behind the couch since I don't want to be spotted. Or maybe I won't have enough time to get out of sight from the window, so what I'll do is lay on the floor and throw a blanket over me real quick. Because a long green lump isn't suspicious at all.

I don't really know why I still do this. Habit, I guess. Or maybe I just want the element of surprise. When the FedEx guy drops off my package, I want to be able to pop out from under the window and yell "Ha! I can sign for that!" Or maybe when someone is breaking into my window, I want to throw the blanket back, reveal my face, and terrify the intruder.

Basically, I blame my repeated viewings of Home Alone. I've never heated up my door knob, put pokey things under the window, or tar and nailed the steps coming up from the basement, but I fully have a protocol, should the need ever arise. I am not going to post it here, because for all I know there is a stalker who reads my blog everyday in hopes that I will reveal the location of my home and the hours in which I am alone.

I'm telling you right now, it's probably not worth your time to kidnap or rob me. My computer is a desktop from 2004, I own a very limited DVD collection, and the nicest thing I have are my couches which weigh as much as a baby elephant, so getting away with them wouldn't be easy. If you were to want them, you'd have to at least bring a U-haul because there's no way they're fitting in a pick up truck. And good luck trying to back that U-haul out of the driveway--you'll be sandwiched. But I wouldn't put it past a thief to ram through my wooden fence, mow over the neighbor's garden, and make a break for it in the opposite direction.

You don't want to kidnap me because I'd ask you for an interview on your life of crime, so that I could blog about it. Plus, I'd want to get my phone and Tweet about it as it was happening. My update would probably be something like "In the trunk of a car blindfolded, but don't worry, even though I can't see I can still text via voice commands on my smart phone." Only wait, I don't actually have a smart phone (another reason it's not worth it to rob me).

Things that cause me unnecessary anxiety

Here is a list of things I put off because I just don't want to confront them. This is due to my weird phobia of talking to certain people, even if they are nice people and have nothing mean to say. I am pretty sure I have a form of Aspergers that gives me an irrational uncomfortableness towards certain everyday situations. Unlike that new girl on Glee, I can't just say whatever the heck I want and follow it with "Sorry, I have Aspergers." Through introspective journaling and long talks with my rabbit, Roo, I am trying to pinpoint what part of my childhood this problem stems from.

I dislike:

• responding to certain e-mails
• Calling Comcast to get my bill lowered
• making medical appointments
• calling people on the phone for the first time that I have never talked to on the phone. I could talk to a person 8 times face to face, but when it comes time for me to call them, I clam up. This is why I prefer e-mail. I don't know what my problem is. Introversion, maybe.
• wheeling my garbage can to the end of the driveway. Okay okay, so I'm not filled with anxiety when I do it, I just dislike it. Not because it's difficult, but because I seem to always forget on Sunday nights and then remember at 3am, so I have to hop out of bed, put on shoes, and drag it down the lane in the dead of night. And the sound of wheels grinding against the pavement probably wakes my neighbors and causes them to hate me, but what do I care? They park on my property like it's a Walmart lot open to RVs.

Do you have any irrational anxiety problems? Have you discovered what part of your traumatizing middle school experience this has resulted from?

I might be able to keep my mouth shut, but I can't keep my fingers off the keyboard

This didn't turn out the way that I expected. But then again, when did anything? I contemplated not writing this at all because of the outcome, then I wrote it and contemplated not posting it, but I thought about it some more and figured God deserved it. I want to show you how awesome he is, even if I haven't a clue where this is headed.

If you haven't read the post about how I resigned from my job as a teacher, maybe you should. It's right here. But here's the secret. Here's the thing I've been keeping my mouth shut about since April: there was another reason I had to quit my job. Instantly you think I'm going to birth a child. Not so. This isn't an article in Entertainment Weekly.

I am warning you right now that this is an extremely long entry, because my life from March to July was a lot more intensive than I let on. I hope you have enough stamina to read every paragraph and make it to the end. If you are really impatient then just read the orange paragraphs. There were parts of this story that I never told my mother, my sister, or my best friend. But everyone can know now.

The Further Explanation

Friends, I had to walk away from my job because the sacrifice had to be greater. I had to quit my job in order to do the job I wanted to do. My God asked me to. Let me explain the first part.

I knew that I couldn't do my job again next year. Was I meant to be a teacher? Probably. Was I meant to teach the way that the school district set it up? Absolutely not. While I have a heart for kids and for education, I couldn't do it the way that I had been doing for the past three years, because about 80% of it just seemed wrong to me. I won't get into that 80% here, but if you want to talk to me, I could probably blab to you for about five hours. So you know I wanted out.

Unless you live in the same city as me, you probably don't know the extent of the budget cuts the school district is facing for the upcoming school year. About 248 teachers got laid off. I knew the situation was serious, so I started praying for what most people never pray for: "Lord, let one of them be me. Please have me get laid off." My reasoning? I could walk away without being a quitter. I would collect unemployment.

I was three years into the teaching system, so the chances of losing my job were slim yet still possible. For the first three years that you are a teacher, you are on what's called a probationary contract. Basically that just means it's easier for you to get cut or let go. After year three you are pretty much golden, as you go to a permanent contract. I kept praying that I would get laid off. Then the day came when my principal thought he was bringing me good news. He told me that I had missed the cut mark by two days, meaning, I was hired on August 26th, 2008. People who were hired two days later on August 28th, 2008 lost their jobs. A second grade teacher in our building was one of them. Is this system of losing/keeping your job wrong? Basically. But that's not what we're talking about right now.

There I was, safe. After June ended, I would be considered a permanent employee. Job security. Health insurance. PERS. Paid sick days. Summers off. It sounds great to a lot of people. "Benefits" can be deceiving. None of it was worth it to me. Not for this job. What good is a summer off if you spend most of it trying to rehabilitate your brain, body, and soul from the damage it endured for the ten months prior?

The point is, I walked away from it. God made me choose. I wanted him to decide for me. I wanted him to say "you don't have to do this again, Joelle. You're laid off. You can't. Here's your unemployment check." But that's not what God did. He let me decide. He made me choose.

I had to either decide to keep my job and hope for lottery like odds that I'd enjoy round four, or I had to have the courage to tell my principal that I was finished. I hate to disappoint people. That conversation alone was going to make me bawl my eyes out. I would have to trust that God would take care of me, even if I received no unemployment check. I chose the latter, because the sacrifice had to be greater. I knew God was testing my trust in him.

But wait, there's something else I'm not telling you. Something else that I kept to myself during April, May, and June. I didn't tell my mother, my sister, my best friend, anybody. It was because I was having a battle in my heart and wanted to tell God NO to what he was asking of me.

What was he asking me to do? Give it all up. Surrender everything. I was sitting there on my bed with a notebook, writing out "Design a Dream Job," thinking of all the great things I could/should do. What's your biggest dream? my head asked. Be a successful published author and have enough money that I can afford to teach for free, my way. Immediately I hear, "Then why aren't you doing it now?"

Good point. If I wanted to truly write, I would be doing it. If I wanted to teach for free so that I can love on kids and give them a quality education like I envision, I could. Why aren't I doing it now? And okay, so I haven't exactly sold a novel quite yet. But I should be. Teaching was never my number one career aspiration. It was my second love, my second calling, and something that seemed safer and more stable than trying to make a living off of writing. Teaching was always plan B, and writing was plan A.

There I was, sitting at home with a notebook pad, knowing exactly what I had to do. It all came together in about ten seconds, and it was far from comforting. I needed to resign from my job at the elementary school, and then turn around and ask for it back in a different way. I could see it all. Me. Ten students who are two years or more below grade level. Teaching for free. Actually getting to teach and make a difference, because I had ten minds to mold, not thirty. I could actually build relationships with them and form a community, not a mob. Best of all, since I wasn't a contracted state employee, I could bring my God into it. I had very much learned that God was and is the only thing that can change the futures of the population I work with. Everything is so broken and so twisted and they are only nine years old. I wanted them to know the One who loved them unconditionally.

Teaching for free would give me more time to focus on my writing, because I wouldn't be camped out at school for twelve hours a day. Ten students seemed so much more manageable. A joy, even.

How would you survive? That's your biggest question. How would you live if you don't get a paycheck for at least ten more months? That's why this was a trust fall, people. I have some money I've diligently saved up for grad school, and I planned on exhausting that in order to live the dream. Plus, you know, God might send me a big check in the mail or something. Or rain down manna for me to eat.

My biggest fear was that question. If I told my family, they would say "How would you survive?" If I told my friends, they would say "How would you pay your bills?" So I kept it to myself and told God we'll just see where this all goes. No reason to freak people out unnecessarily.

Please keep in mind that I am not telling you this story because I want you to be impressed with my plan to sacrifice a year's worth of pay and teach for free. You're probably not impressed though, you think I'm insane. Which is fine. But please know, I am no martyr, no savior, no saint. That was the other reason I didn't want to tell people. I didn't want anyone thinking I was trying to be this amazing missionary in the ghetto of the city. I don't want you to look at me, I want you to look at my God. I am weak and I am selfish and I do anything to get out of pain. This story's not over yet.

Teach for free. That was the bottom line. Go back to the place where I had become broken and embrace it with love and joy and passion. No thanks, God. I think I'll pass. That was April.

May was a very exciting time for me because it meant that I could actually start applying to new jobs. I found a position to be a grant writer for a non-profit organization. I applied with hope.

On May 27th, 2011, this is what I wrote in my journal:

I know that God has just been toughening me up for the next battle, because he will ask me to give up more than I'm comfortable with...I say "God, why do you ask this of me?" Because I don't want to. But I want to do what is right, and it's like I don't even have a choice.


I might as well surrender now. Then everything that was meant to happen can just happen already, without any more delay.
A long wait later, I was invited to an interview for the grant writing job. My whole thinking was, if I get this job then I know God doesn't really want me to teach for free. So my conversation with the Creator of the Universe was still, "No God, please don't ask this of me."

I went into the interview, smoked it like a sausage, and left feeling like I had a good shot at being offered the position. But in the pit of my stomach it just didn't feel right. I a little bit found myself hoping I wouldn't get the job, because I was selfish for my hard-earned summer break.

When I learned that I did not get the position, my conversation with the Lord turned to "Fine, God, fine." If he really wanted me to teach for free, I would do it, because it was the right thing to do. I try really hard to do the right thing, even if it hurts.

School got out June 17th, and I secretly packed up all my personal classroom materials and hauled them to my house. It's not easy sneaking out four bookcases, seven boxes of books, and other teaching paraphernalia out of a classroom without anybody noticing. When I got it all into my spare room at home, I felt relieved for about a millisecond. Then I shut the door and didn't look at it again because I felt like work had literally followed me home for the summer.

During my first few days of vacation, I felt incredibly joyful, peaceful, and refreshed. It was over. I didn't have to go back. It was then that I started thinking about what it could be like to teach ten kids for free. We'd have our own little classroom, because two positions got cut from the school, resulting in empty space. We'd become a community, have team builders, and work hard to catch up to grade level. With only ten sets of parents, I'd be able to keep close communication with them. Their child would not be forgotten. They would know that they are incredibly wanted, because I picked them to be in my class. All my ideas got really exciting. "Fine, God, Fine" turned into "I hope I can convince my principal to let me do this." I actually wanted to start eating Top Ramen for dinner every night.

I prayed a lot. I needed bravery. I needed peace. Finally I arranged for a meeting with my principal. I'm pretty sure he thought it was because I was going to resign. I kept that news short. I handed in my official letter of resignation, then told him that was not what I was here to talk about.

I told him what I wanted to do, how I wanted below-grade-level students in a small, focused classroom. How I wanted to do it for free. I was ready for the question "How can you do this? How will you survive?" or "I appreciate your heart, Joelle, but I cannot let you do this to yourself." My prepared answer would have been "I trust my God more than I trust you." But it was never asked. Maybe my principal thought I had a sugar daddy to pay all my bills. I don't. Maybe he thought I was a trust fund baby. I'm not. I had not won the lottery, been given an inheritance, or any other thing that would leave me carefree about monthly bills. Yes, I had carefully saved my money, and I thought I could stretch it out. That was all. I was trusting God.

My principal was supportive of the idea, but said he needed to talk to HR because of the nature of the work. Teaching is very confidential, as we are privy to student files, medical records, family information, and all that jazz. I'm not going to go into all the details of what my principal and I discussed, but he was on my side and said he'd get back to me.

I left the building feeling relieved that I had finally done it. It was totally up to God now; I had done my part.

Three days later I was told that I could not teach ten kids in my own classroom for free. I could volunteer in the classroom with another teacher if I wanted, but students could not be assigned to me for an entire day, since I wouldn't actually be an employee. Technicalities. I was mad about it, but I accepted it.


In some ways this answer was both better and worse. It was better because I wouldn't have to teach for free and maybe could actually get paid to do something. That would be nice; thanks for understanding, God. It was worse because I was left with NO IDEA as to how to proceed. What now, God? I don't know the plan. It's one thing to not be earning a paycheck but be teaching children everyday, it's a completely other thing to not be earning a paycheck and be sitting on your couch all day watching Lost re-runs. I'd be lying if I told you I don't care what people think.

I never want people to think that I am a bum, that I don't work hard, that I am lazy or have given up. But I don't know where it goes from here. Not knowing is almost more unsettling than being told to give up a year's worth of pay.

You might think "God did not really want Joelle to teach for free, that's nuts." I am absolutely certain that God wanted me to decide. I HAD to ask to teach for free, and I HAD to mean it in my heart, because that is what God was asking me. Maybe it was a trust test. Maybe it's still gonna happen. I could get a phone call tomorrow from the superintendent telling me it's a yes and that I'd better start setting up my classroom.

The main reason I am posting this entry is because I want to boast in the Lord. I want you to remember this piece of my life, so that when God works his miracles, you will see how far it all came from. I have absolutely no idea where my life is going now, but I am certain that it is going to be good. God is going to bless me up the whazoo, I am going to trust in him even if I end up in a cardboard box, and I will be so filled with new-found joy. My God loves me and he's going to take care of me forever. 

Right now I've got  Isaiah 43:1-7  posted in my room. 

Love you and thanks for reading,

Joelle

Congratulations! You have finished reading this extremely long post, which contained 2,852 words. Research shows that children need to practice reading for at least two hours a day in order to make a grade level's worth of progress. Have you met your quota? 

Lucid Dreaming

This is kind of a weird post, but that's what you get for clicking on something that mentions dreaming. Next time you'll know better.

Some people keep a dream journal where they write down the dreams they had while they were sleeping. The idea is that if you write it down, you'll remember things more clearly and you will get better at recalling your dreams. I thought about doing this, but I have realized that I'd really rather not remember my dreams.

Awhile ago, my friend Natalie pointed out to me that maybe the reason I'm tired all the time (even though I get 8 hours of sleep) is because my dreams are not very restful. Example: in the past seven days I remembered three of my dreams. In one of them, a humanistic wolf was trying to eat me and my family. He climbed up onto my roof, and I finally stabbed him with a knife I found. Freak you out a bit? Yeah, me too.

In another one of my dreams, a relative of mine was trying to murder me by running me over. A few nights ago, I had a dream that the father of one of my students was chasing me around this sketchy hotel/US bank/church because I knew of a crime he committed. And I had to run down like, eight flights of stairs super fast. Plus, at the very end of my dream there were fire ants in my mouth. But you wanna know what's weird? It's not like this father was creepy in real life or did anything I knew about, but four days after I had the dream, the kid told me at school that once his dad had been in prison. Which just goes to show you that I have an excellent subconscious and it is really good at identifying felons.

Basically, every time I fall asleep I have to run for my life. I don't know why I keep dreaming these things, because no one has ever tried to hurt me in actual life. It's not like when I was six years old I had to hide from a crazed lunatic trying to kill me or something. So I don't know why I keep dreaming these things. I wish it would stop.

I read about how if you want to dream about a certain thing, you really need to think about it and concentrate on it a lot before falling asleep. I've done this a few times and it has worked once or twice. I feel like I need to go to the library and check out some dream books or something, because I am tired of running for my life in my dreams.

Tonight I'm gonna think Channing Tatum, Channing Tatum, Channing Tatum.

Attack of the Woodland Creatures

I'm staring up into the fir tree, thinking if I should slowly back away or stand my ground. After all, I am on my property. In my back yard for Pete's sake! I should be able to pull weeds and plant grass anytime I want. But instead I've taken the earbuds of my iPod out so that I can listen better--listen to the threat of an undoubtedly rabies infected squirrel with a wiry tail.

I don't know what I was thinking before. I've seen many squirrels performing the high wire across the top of my fence. I've seen them in the trees. I've thought they were cute and friendly and on my side. Boy, was I wrong. I can see that now. This squirrel is pissed at me. He hates me. He is clearly telling me to leave.

I don't really know how it started. I was bent over, trying to get some stubborn dandelion out of the lawn when I heard scratching and scurrying across the fence. I look up and see a squirrel dive from the fence to a tree branch. He goes closer to the base of the tree and then starts having convulsions. His body looks like he's doing hip hop, and his long skinny tail is twitching crazily. At first I think he's just been startled, as I have, but then he starts to click at me.

I never knew that squirrels could talk. But they can. They can scream and they can growl. It sounds mostly like a click you would make with your own vocal chords, only deadlier. Not quite a hiss, but it is quite threatening. And they can be loud. It's really probably one of the more terrifying moments I've encountered with a woodland creature, aside from the time I saw a buck in the forest behind my house and ran for my life because I thought the deer was about to charge me.

So there I am, staring up at this squirrel who is having convulsions and clicking at me in a very threatening tone. He's not running away. He moves around on the branches, and I half wonder if his plan is to scurry to the end of one of the branches, leap off, land on my head, and give me a rabies bite to my face. Seriously. This seems likes something he might do.

As I gaze up into the tree, I start to speak rationally. "Look," I begin. "This is my property. I will stay on my side of the fence. It's my home. I realize that you are in your home as well, but can't you just stay on your side of the fence? I promise not to bother you." I actually say all of this. No kidding.

The wiry squirrel is having none of it. He starts to puff his chest out, like he's on steroids. His incessant clicking and squealing and body convulsions has notified some back up. I see through the branches that another squirrel is hopping along, coming to aid him in his distress. It takes about two minutes, and then I have two squirrels threatening me. The back up squirrel does the same thing. He twitches his tail and clicks and twists. This one is fatter and its tail isn't so long and wiry. Like maybe he doesn't have rabies.

What I start to think is oh, shit I've got to get out. Because this isn't safe. They could seriously jump onto my head via the branch highway. I take off my gardening gloves and start to back towards the house. I don't actually go inside the house. What I do is go start working on the other side of the yard, away from the tree and it's furious inhabitants. After a few minutes, I wander back over to the tree.

The first psychotic squirrel is gone. Number two is still there, but he is silent. I watch him for a bit, until he decides to scurry back. I want to feel safe. I really do. I want to bend over and continue my work, but I am apprehensive. What if they went back to get the whole squirrel brigade together and at this very moment they are climbing to the tops of the trees, planning a surprise attack on me? You've never seen a squirrel so fierce.

I wanted those cute, little squirrels who lived in the tree on the other side of the fence to be my friends, I really did. But now I see it like it really is: we are enemies.