The Ghost In Your Blog
I don’t know how you would measure a person’s imagination or if it is even possible, but if we could I expect mine would be bigger or more active than average.
That is not meant to be anything other than a comment, not bragging or even humble bragging, I am just sharing a thought.
It comes from a lifetime of having a million stories floating through my head and comments people around the blogosphere have made about how many blogs I support or the real life folks who ask how I never seem to run out of stories.
I don’t know how or why, it is just how it is always been for me. It is kind of like asking me to comment on what it is like to be a man, it is all I have known.
Sure, I have my thoughts and ideas about what it would be like to be a woman but I don’t really know if they are all that close because I have never been one.
What If You Weren’t Alone In The House
If you are among the few who know me in real life and know me well you know that the bravado isn’t really an act. I don’t consider myself to be a tough guy, but I am a guy who has been through some tough situations.
Some of those include having exchangedÂ effortsÂ to hurt or not be hurt by others. Yeah, I know what it means to hit someone else and to have been hit, not really fun or something to brag about but I am sharing it here because I am trying to provide some details and layers for those few who read these pages and review the tapestry I am trying to paint.
Anyway, if you go back to those who know me you know that for my entire life there have been times where I have found the dark to be uncomfortable.
I usually attributed it to my imagination because it was always easy for me to picture monsters, bad guys and just stuff that could hurt me looming somewhere beyond my eyesight.
In fact, I attribute my learning how to fight to this fear of the dark and the sense I got at times that something was waiting to get me, something I couldn’t see but I could feel.
That sense of anticipation, the worry about what might be coming has always been a sore spot for me. Any time I got into some sort of altercation (there really weren’t that many) I was always anxious…until the first punch was thrown.
After that I was good, it was kind of like getting into a very hot/cold bath where the slowly dip yourself into the water approach could be excruciating.
Of course burning water wasn’t exactly comfortable either, but you can’t expect to have everything now can you.the sense I got at times that something was waiting to get me, something I couldn't see but I could feel.Click To Tweet
The feelings Â started around a month or so ago, maybe longer, it took a while before I started to pay close attention.
It was this uneasy sense that I wasn’t alone in the house, yet I knew that the only living creatures inside the house were the dog and some goldfish.
There were moments where I would be in the shower when I was certain that someone was about to walk into the bathroom, where I would sometimes stick my head out of shower and listen or call out but never hear anything in response.
Moments where I would be working at my computer or standing inside the garage and get this sense that something bad was close but I always ignored it because I figured it was just my ridiculously active imagination.
One day I had enough and I shouted out into the air that I wasn’t ready to go back to prison, that 10 years for murder was enough.
There was no answer and so I looked at the dog and told him I was being ridiculous and that if he wasn’t barking I wouldn’t give a second thought to it.
The Ghost That Attacked Me
Not long after that things changed and I started picturing a man or men with knives or guns coming up the stairs or sneaking out at me.
I looked at the dog and told him I was certain my imagination was playing tricks on me and asked him if he thought I should get more sleep.
He just wagged his tail.
And then one day I wondered if a ghost or malevolent entity was attacking me. Probably didn’t hurt that I watched The Amityville Horror late at night.
Anyway, I mentioned it in passing to some people and one of them suggested I ask for help from the angels. I shrugged my shoulders and figured why not.
If they don’t exist it wouldn’t matter and if they do, well they are supposed to help.
But being who I am I also made a point to create a mental picture of myself dressed as a Jedi who wasn’t just capable of using The Force, I could also shoot laser beams from my fingers, had Adamantium claws and was ridiculously fast/strong.
Hell, if you are going to imagine yourself as some kind of superhero you might as well go for it.
Anyway, things changed after that and the sense that something was in the house with me disappeared. That doesn’t prove that anything was here or that any efforts to call upon angels or become a Jedi worked.
But it doesn’t prove it didn’t either and the way I see it since I haven’t tried to Force Choke the drivers that cut me off or levitate the dishes from the table to the sink I must be ok.
The Ghost In Your Blog
Sometimes I look at old posts and decide to run them again.
Sometimes I grab something likeÂ Our Patron Saint- Our Lady of Getting LuckyÂ orÂ He Used To Be The Six Million Dollar ManÂ because I am pleased with the work I did there and I think that new readers would appreciate them.
Most of the time I try to change the headline a bit and or tweak things just a little and then I read through the comments.
That is where I find the ghosts of the blog, faceless names of commenters who used to hang out here, part of the evolving community.
Somewhere along the way they chose to end their stay and stopped walking with the rest of us.
Sometimes I read their names and wonder why they no longer visit and why they chose to end the journey. I wonder if they grew bored, were offended or ran short on time and decided this place wasn’t providing enough of a benefit to keep coming around.
Any or all of them are ok.
I have used every one of them as reasons for no longer journeying with other bloggers.
Sometimes I imagine that one day we’ll all gather together again and share our stories. Sometimes I imagine we’ll find ourselves sharing a meal, or drinks around a wooden bench at the beach or a cabin in the mountains and that the ghosts of our past will walk back into our present.