(originally written on November 27, 2007)
I the last time I heard wind like the devils whipping outside my window tonight, I was living in Omaha, NE.
Now I'm in Sacramento and the roommate and I are convinced there is a ghost in our midst. I even see the imprints of human body parts on the sliding glass door, like Han Solo attempting to escape his carbon freeze encasing. At first I thought the roommate had a hot date when I went home for Thanksgiving and forgot to clean up before her orgasm'd hit the pillow, forgetting herself and her actions the next morning. And maybe Band of Horses is right about "a ghost in my house."
Two weeks prior, I could have sworn that I saw lip prints on my laptop screen. Then I thought, what a hot prospect--living with a female ghost who's cool enough to kiss my window to the superhighway.
Yesterday, I awoke to the sound of glass breaking in the kitchen. Roommate already at work., so it must have been Bella (my pet name for my sultry ghost). And there I was naked, bent over sweeping glass onto a Rolling Stone with Kid Rock on the cover--boy, do I live a charmed American life, or what?
If Bella continues to haunt my haunt, she's cool. I think she knew the Omaha wind was coming for her tonight. Ghosts ride the winds. I bet you didn't know that. And if you listen closely, you can hear them sing old Stix songs when you sleep.
"Come sail away. Come sail away with me."
