Category Archives: Journal

One of the oddest supernatural experiences I’ve ever had was in 2017 or so. I was at an estate sale with my family. And when I walked into an upstairs bedroom where an empty mattress sat I heard snoring. Loud snoring. The way only an older man can snore.

I looked around and nobody else was in the room. Or if they were they certainly weren’t snoring. But I recall looking at the bed and having that sense that an older man was sleeping there. Very soundly it seemed? Or was he making a joke?

Regardless, it was a distinct sound.

“Who is my other half?!” Lacey has pleaded with God to tell her.

“Give all your suffering over to God.” says a priest on Tik Tok.

And Lacey gets the distinct sense that she’s outside of the normal arrangement of things. If God is allowing her to talk to very specific ghosts…she’s possibly going to have the “natural consequence” (a parenting concept used on Millennials) of being stuck with whatever ghost she gets stuck with…for eternity. Although, that could be wrong. But she wonders if that’s the way it’ll have to be?

…

So? Who? Who is it?!

…

“You have no fear when it comes to trusting God in some ways. Do you?” says Louis.

“No. He’s God.” says Lacey.

“Your father must have been brilliant.” says some other ghost sitting in the same dim church.

“Why do I feel like that snoring man knows exactly who I belong to?”

“Because he does.”

“It’s me.” says Michael.

“It’s me.” says Lem.

“It’s me.” says Louis.

“It’s me.” says Harold.

“Everyone will be happier without you if you’re not meant for them.” says Scott.

“I know. But do they know that?” asks Lacey.

He smiles knowingly.

“It’s Lem.” says Zelda.

“Well of course it is. She’s been literally torturing me ever since she found out about me.” says the priest who molested Lem. “Today she imagined me humiliating myself in front of my entire congregation.” He cries. Because where he is…it actually gives him hope to be humiliated.

“But Lem doesn’t imagine for Lacey.” says Louis.

“I just want to go swimming.” says Harold nostalgically. Oddly this also comforts Lacey.

“We’re still on.” says Michael.

“I feel like throwing-up.” says Lem.

Lacey’s kids have been sick. One of her kids threw-up yesterday. No one else did.

“You don’t affect us. At all! Oh no!” says the snorer sarcastically?

“I used to wear Guerlain Vetiver.” says a ghostly man very fondly… Does Lacey have his old bottle of Vetiver?

“Is this allowed?!!?” Lacey asks God.

“It’s me. Until Lem can fully apologize and then I’ll reassess it.”

“But I haven’t given-up on the idea, entirely. My wife doesn’t think I should. She doesn’t think it’s right.” says Louis.

“I’m still in love with you.” says Harold.

“And I can’t compete because I’ve got a stick up my ass and I’m being waved around like a puppet.” says Lem in faux cheerfulness.

“It’s Lem.” says his mother.

“We’ll see.” says Louis.

“I just wish people had more respect for you.” says Scott to Lacey.

“I’m sorry it’s me.” says Michael crying stoically. But then he smiles…

“I just want everyone to be okay.” says Lacey. And she also wants everyone to be happy.

“I’m not okay. I’m far from okay. You weren’t there back then…and you’re not here now. And you’re not God but I want you to be.” says Lem to Lacey.

“And instead I’m vulnerable and can be confused.” says Lacey.

“You need protecting.” and at that Lem goes into tears.

If Lacey’s mother was Margy…symbolically or literally…Lacey’s beauty was lost. Even though she’s alive.

Her whole life she grew-up comparing herself to women with sharp, elegant features. Nordic coloring. Tall. Slender.

Lacey’s beauty isn’t curvy like some women though. And Lacey is curvy but…that’s not the thing.

The thing is…she’s thin but it’s more that she’s objectively smaller than most living American white women. Yet not genuinely petite. And her beauty rests in an unending sense of her soft fertility.

Soft fertility?! Yes. The way your grandmother or great grandmother may have been soft and fertile in her appearance in her youth. Think of the beauty ideal of the 1930’s. They weren’t curvy in the way we consider curves in 2022. They were…soft. And fertile in appearance. We call it femininity but it’s really an appearance of fertility… It’s about femininity but with the emphasis placed on how easily a woman can conceive a child.

But Lacey wanted to be taken seriously. By everyone. So she tried to obscure her femininity. Her fertility. To be quieter. To be more private. To be left alone…

Except now she’s too left alone. Or is she?

The thing is…as she’s written before…she was misunderstood.

“I’m soo misunderstood!” people sometimes say to sound cool. But what about the people who actually are misunderstood? What are they supposed to say? Lacey really has been genuinely misunderstood.

No. She’s heterosexual, ladies. She’s just not being…open about it. Not because she’s confused and wants to run off with a female Jack…and rather effectively pretend to be a lesbian and fool a lot of people. But because she is scared.

Scared? Yes. Scared of being raped. Scared of being given attention she doesn’t want. From men. That doesn’t mean she’s gay. Sorry.

…

Once Lacey wore high heels in a store for an ex and he was so aroused it became an incident. It’s flattering…but think about how that makes someone like her feel. Some women might enjoy or crave that variety of power over other people. Lacey finds it genuinely repulsive. How do you blend in and enjoy nature and art and grieve evil while wearing high heels? While attracting unwanted attention? It’s easier to wear a sackcloth and ashes all of the time.

And in essence, she does. Sweeties…if her father was born in 1894 she’s in permanent hiding. And she’s taken that subconscious directive from her father very, very seriously.

…

And yet…if Michael had approached her she would have instantly known. And allowed it.

It looks like snobbery. But it isn’t.

And what’s just being empathetic to Lacey looks like genuine friendliness to others. Or did. Maybe people were genuinely kinder in the past too.

What’s Lacey in mourning for? Death. Look around… Look in your own backyard at your brown lawn and the weird color of the sky. The blinding lights of the sun. The eerie, sad feeling of life. The way nothing feels alive and yet everything feels alive.