Excerpt From A Ghost's Diary, Part 5

For part one, go here

For part two, go here

For part three, go here

For part four, go here

March 3, 2007

Spring is coming, I guess.  You don’t really feel the weather when you’re dead.  You get a sense of it from the what people are wearing and doing, but you never know for sure.  Like when it’s sunny and blue skies, but there’s still a wind blowing and chill in the air.  

You don’t get that weird sensation when you’re a spirit.  To you, that day must be warm, because it looks warm.  Then you suddenly notice that people are wearing jackets and long sleeves, and you realize that you’ve been fooled again.  You feel a little kinship with the folks you see in shorts or t-shirts, that didn’t check the weather before leaving the house, and just assumed, like you did, that it was warm out.  You see them shiver a little, and rub their arms, but they try to be nonchalant about it because they don’t want to draw attention to the fact that they messed up.

People worry about the silliest things.  Ghosts don’t care what you think of them, for the most part.  We are too wrapped up in our own misery, or we know you can’t see us anyway, so why bother?  So the world and it’s seasons go on for the living, and meanwhile, no matter how warm it may be, we spirits never lose this otherworldly chill that is our constant companion as we yearn to feel warm just one more time.

March 17, 2007

Today is St. Patrick’s Day.  Parades are everywhere, and most of the world seems drunk.  I guess people will use any excuse to unwind, and why shouldn’t they?  A lot of them overdo it on this day, though.  Then there is fighting, yelling, violence, and vomiting.  

Many things that start off as an opportunity for a good time often descend into chaos and regret.  I don’t know if it is because people have so much anger and resentment stored up inside and it all comes out the minute we let our guard down, or if we are all just bad drunks.  Maybe that’s the same thing.  I’m not even sure if St. Patrick’s Day is a holy day or just an excuse for a party.   

At any rate, Saint or not, I see an awful lot of people vomiting, and that’s unpleasant, even if you’re dead.

April 24, 2007

As a ghost, you really have nothing much to do but drift through the world and observe.  Perhaps that’s our punishment.  Or maybe it’s a reward, I can’t say.  Whatever it is, it surely gives you perspective.  

As you drift pass the population, you can’t help but notice how many of them are anxious and stressed out.  They are deep in thought if they are alone, brow furrowed, sighing heavily, muscles twitching with nervous tics.  If they are with others, many times they are acting the same way I just described when they are alone, oblivious to those that love them, who are looking on in quiet desperation, wishing they could help.  More likely, their loved ones are sitting across the table in the same state, furrowed brow and twitching along with them.  

Sometimes these agitated people are with friends discussing what is upsetting them, but it always seems to result in the same outcomes.  Either the other person listens dutifully, just waiting for them to finish so they can list their own problems.  Or the other person then offers their take on what’s going on, and the person with the worries thanks them and continues to worry and stress anyway.

Once you are dead though, you realize that a lot of the interactions with others over most of the things you tie yourself up in knots over doesn’t matter in the least.  Most of us just can’t help ourselves, we want drama and misery in our lives because it makes us feel like we matter and it gets us attention.  Not to say that no one has real problems of course, yet the fact remains that  we know the solutions to most of our dilemmas, but where is the fun in that? We must draw them out, poke at them over and over, examine them from every angle multiple times.

So we go on, fretting our lives away in a vain attempt to be noticed and told that it will all be alright, all the while surrounded by wisps of people that were once just like you, and now have no way of telling you what a waste of time and energy it was.