When I die I'm coming back as a ghost. I'll be at the help desk and the lady will say, "Now, if you take our basic package, you spend some time in purgatory and then eventually head on up. Or, for a premium we can send you express to heaven--"
"What about your ghost options?"
"Well, we usually reserve that for our embittered or rage-filled guests--"
"Sure, but I am just really interested--"
"According to your file, Ms. _______, we have heaven as...a giant trampoline made of Peeps? You're not interested?"
"I just really like ghosts is the thing."
She sighs, "Well, let me get my manager over here. And! You know you don't get any powers, right?"
"Not even ceramic skills?"
"And I have hungered for yooooour touch--"
"Yeah. You and every other person that comes through this office. Look. You want the haunting program director or not?"
My sister and I visited the cemetery for people who have died trying to climb Mount McKinley. (Some years two, some eight. In 2002 three brothers all together--27, 21, and 15.) I liked being there. I told her--my sister, I mean--that she will know my spirit remains because I'll be blowing on her with peanut butter breath for all eternity. I tell this to Bisque and he says he'll find my face in a burnt marshmallow--like a Jesus watermark. I tweet that and Shells counters, No, a Pop-Tart. Options.
AliceSr and I went on a ghost tour of Anchorage on Sunday. A woman committed suicide in the bathroom of the hotel we were staying in. Apparently something would snatch at women's ankles and shake walls until the stall was locked permanently. The chicas on the tour trickled in, took photos. One announced, "It smells like blood! It smells like blood!" and I rolled my eyes. It often smells like blood in the ladies room.
You flew out on a plane,
came crashing into the ocean,
and then you haunted me.
Don't have a clue what's the motion,
so every now and then it feels so soothing
when you float on a bit and move right though me.