The Ghosts Upstairs
Ever lived in a haunted place?
I do. And for those who know me more than I want them to…no, they’re not the ghosts in my head. They’re real ghosts. Or at least it’s just one ghost.
It’s weird trying to live harmoniously with a ghost. We more or less have our own spaces in the house. Although I think he gets to "own" a lot more than I do - but I can live with that.
Last night, I wanted to actually talk to him (because I know it’s a guy…) so I was sort of willing myself to see him, like in full ghoul-y form. I thought he’d have that Slimer-esque, ectoplasmic glow. And then I was worried because maybe he wasn’t a ghost-ghost but like a capre ghost or tikbalang ghost. Then I wouldn’t want to see them anymore.
Anyway, so I stayed up until 3. Ha! It creeped me out but, there’s really nothing else to do.
What did I find out?
1. Apparently, there’s a cat family that inhabits my balcony at night. (That’s why I keep sneezing whenever I sunbathe…)
2. The tree right by our gate looks like a lady holding her skirt up just when she’s about to jump over a puddle or something. And it needs to be trimmed because the leaves are grazing the electric wires already.
3. The floorboards near the wall near my bed need to be replaced.
4. I bit my nails to the quick, and I missed the squishy, soft-as-a-baby’s-bum feel of newly shortened fingernails…but they hurt.
5. I’m a horribly bad person. Like bad, really bad. I don’t know why, but I hated myself last night…I still do (so bender, here I come!) But then, I’ve been going through a funk these past couple of days anyway.
Did the ghost eventually appear? No, I fell asleep. I didn’t even dream about him. But who knows, maybe that was already the length and breadth of our conversation.
