A Story from A Ghost

Transcript

There. I'm brighten up. Dear Diary, I've been thinking a lot lately about chain reactions.

It's like that song goes, I can't get no satisfaction. I'm like that no matter where I am. And lately, New York has been seeming a little more plastic.

A little less magical. And I wasn't just talking about the tighter food truck rules. Now, my circumstances are my own doing.

I won't ever say otherwise. I will, however, bitch about it to anyone who will listen. And these days, Darling Diary, it's you.

I seem to have run out of humans. Rather quickly, I might add. The hardest part is waking up alone.

Every day. The same routine. Wake up startled, choking, gasping for breath, and check Skype.

I'm popular. I'm popular, of course. But it's never who I want it to be.

Mostly demonic strippers from the club and bored, borderline sociopathic club kids. It's never her. I lost that.

My fault. Bad choices. But it was a fun ride while it lasted.

None of my current bedmates could really replace her. Not that any seemed really interested in trying. And I kind of have to wonder what that says about me.

Now I feel low. And I'm sulking. I really only kind of have one thing going for me.

And that's I can make nepenthe in a powder now. Thank you, Todd, you big beautiful ghost. Wherever you are.

This meant I officially had the best nepenthe in the city. I have people lining up to get it. It almost makes me feel popular.

It almost makes me feel like I'm doing something right with my life. If I don't think too hard about what it is I'm actually doing. Mm-hmm.

But that's how I tend to go through life. I don't think about the consequences too often. Somehow I imagined a better life.

One that wasn't anywhere near here. You know, one that wasn't a dirty one-bedroom walk-up apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. I mean, it's not like Supernatural Drug Dealer came up on career day.

It's not like there was a booth between doctor, lawyer, and Hooters girl. Funny how things go. This was really a specialized field.

Lucky me. Job security and all that. It was me or her.

And I picked me. I convinced myself it was noble. And she'd forgive me.

Someday. Someday we'd sit on our porch. We'd drink tea.

We'd grow old. Be little old ladies together. Yet here I was, five months later, staring at Skype and feeling my heart sink.

Every day it gets a little harder. Today was already harder than yesterday. Today I woke up with seven baggies of Nepenthe.

Four pink. Three purple. A lower day than I would have liked.

But I was slacking in production. I seemed to think I had better things to do. Bad little dare.

People like me aren't allowed to sulk. We make the choices. We even live for the thrill.

Well, at least I do. In my own little special kind of way, I'm a junkie. It wasn't drugs.

It's never drugs with me. It's cheap thrills. I do things I should never ever do.

And I like doing it. I don't have feelings. It makes things easier.

It makes it easier to do what I do. To stay up too late. To never eat right.

To buy magic on credit from questionable wizards. I never make plans. I don't.

I'm cool. I'm collected. I fly by the seat of my pants.

I need to figure out which clients are going to get it. With a supply that's already running low. I'm thinking too hard about this problem.

Because I need a distraction. I'm in desperate need of one. Playing with myself just wasn't ever enough.

I would need to make a date with a ghost soon. Like tonight soon. Oh joy.

Remember diary. Sometimes it's not a haunting. Sometimes it's just a hipster.