So of course it's contradictory to have faith in ghosts but none in whatever they call The Afterlife, and, well, okay, it is maybe even more ridiculous that this incredulity somehow doesn't stop you from sometimes imagining the people walking down the street wearing blurry lit outlines. Unlike the movies or TV shows you have stolen this narrative from, however, usually your outlined spectators aren't entirely peaceful or generous; instead they are cranky and critical, they are skeptical of how you spend your time, you can hear their voices from the other side buzzing, lamenting that you are wasting it wasting it wasting it, the same way you let the tap water run too long and leave lights on in rooms you aren't even in. You are using it, squandering it, because you can, beause there seems to be no end to it.
But what can you do? Sometimes it feels just right to sit in a stupor and do nothing, to let that nowhere-to-go, nothing-to-do-ness wash over you. You wake up early but then take a nap, and later sit on the couch and spend half an hour or more looking through an outdated movie guide, doing unexplainable things like counting up the number of adaptations of Wuthering Heights and then maybe a comedy. You look through old cookbooks from the 70's that contain recipe ideas that seem vaguely like torture devices. (Try your hotdog with catsup and pineapple! Peanut butter, bacon, and pickle relish make a great sandwich filling combo!). You declare in a voice louder than the room or situation require that this brand of staying put fits you exactly, and the raised eyebrow response you get is alright, because what you've said is true, what you've said, for the time being, is enough.
Happy Christmas, to all of my friends. I really do love you.