I remember the conversation and the look that came with it. That sense of being recognized but not quite seen.
“I am a ghost you can see or so you prefer to believe because ghosts aren’t real. Except I am…very real.”
No one heard what my thoughts, not even the chair and so I moved on through the crowd and made my way to the door.
It was a peculiar feeling, this being on the outside looking in and I am sure there was a sort of bemused look on my face, if not a Cheshire Cat grin.
I knew so much more than people realized and could recite chapter and verse except I was a ghost and I chose to rattle my chains and moan softly.
Maybe it would lead to change. Maybe somewhere down the road and maybe not.
****
Reality came crashing down upon me in the form of a disembodied voice who wanted to know If I was still there.
“Yeah, I am here. You had me on hold so long I started working on something else.”
Didn’t tell them I wrote 150 words of fiction while I was waiting for them to come back because there was way too much work to be done.
Nor did I tell them I felt the coming crash approaching.
I’d rather be like that passionate shepherd Marlowe wrote about than dealing with the things on my plate.
Rather hide in a castle and be protected by stout walls of stone except I know myself too well.
I don’t hide very well. I don’t like staying behind the castle walls waiting for the siege to break.
I prefer to be in the field where I will or will not survive based upon my skills and whatever luck I create for myself.
So I sit here listening to the rain fall while thinking about how very much I got done and how much remains.
It took a while for me to figure a few things out and once I did I was able to lean into it and apply a significant amount of pressure upon things.
Used my shoulder and legs to move things that wished to remain stationary and now exhaustion has taken over.
Somewhere between to wired to sleep and too tired.
There is a dragon out there in the ether and he is waiting for me. We have done battle every day for a month.
He hasn’t bested me yet but neither have I forced him to cry uncle.
****
I am a damn ghost you can see. I am like the old sea captain that only Mrs. Muir knew about.
I am here. I haven’t left.
Waiting to be seen.
