Living each day, the same as the day before it, until the weekend comes again.
The weekend brings with it so many disruptions to the energy in my house, unsettling changes and uncomfortable feelings.
I believe I have a ghost. He visits on the weekends, and makes himself comfortable.
Sometimes he watches TV for hours upon hours. Football, baseball, golf or an old 80’s movie – complete with dozens of commercials so it lasts at least three hours. He likes to sit in the recliner, fully extended, and watch it alone. Or lay out fully on the couch.
Sometimes he sits at my kitchen counter, gazing at a laptop, drinking coffee that I just made or a vitamin water. He doesn’t speak to me usually, but sometimes he has questions about my checkbook, house repairs or what the kids are doing that day.
Sometimes he drinks wine with me, asking for a glass when I don’t offer. I don’t think to offer, of course, because he is a ghost.
Sometimes he does his laundry in my washer and dryer. Yes, a ghost that does laundry! But only his own, of course. And if my laundry is in the dryer he removes it, dumping it into a basket. He doesn’t fold or hang anything. I guess ghosts don’t do that for other people, just themselves.
Sometimes he uses the bathroom to shower, or brush his teeth, leaving behind a wet towel and a dirty sink. A toothbrush and toiletries. Maybe to let me know that he is here?
He has clothes hanging in our closet, but they’re not the ones that he likes I suppose. They haven’t moved in over six months. Shoes that are left stacked, gathering dust. Suits and ties, shirts and pants, jeans and sweaters dust filling the creases.
He doesn’t do anything in the house, or to the house to repair or improve it. The Christmas lights stayed up until March, waiting for him to remove, but my kids and I did it in the end. The repairs and tweaks in the house are done by a handyman now, not the ghost.
He doesn’t bring me joy. Quite the opposite. There is no comical relief of dishes falling for no reason, or spooky ghost stories of doors closing suddenly. I can’t imagine that he is gaining anything from being around me, either. He is the ghost of my marriage, my past, before it unravelled. He is the ghost of love that has died a slow, tedious death.