I live in a haunted house. Ever since I was little, I've struggled with the fact that I am one of the few people who believe in ghosts. The ghost that haunts me is not me. Ok, maybe that doesn't make much sense. I should capitalize proper nouns, right? The ghost that haunts me is Not Me. Allow me to explain.
Friday, July 24, 2009
As a child, I often got in trouble for things Not Me did. I would try to tell my mom what happened, but she never truly believed me. One day she came in the room to find her favorite crystal vase shattered on the floor. I was still in the room trying to convince Not Me to be a man and take responsibility for his actions.
"WHO BROKE MY VASE!?" (When my mom is upset, she speaks in all caps.)
"Not Me!" I cried.
"What do you mean 'not you'? Who else could have done it?"
"I'm serious, mom! Not Me!"
I got several more deposits into my spank account before that tragic episode was resolved. It's not that I'm mad at my mom for not believing me. After all, I'm a little bit freaked out by seeing ghosts. Don't worry about me, I'm getting some good therapy now. As it turns out, I'm not the only one haunted by the ghost, Not Me. What a relief.
Posted at 6:35 AM