So Greg is going to Philly tonight with a group of ghost hunters--to hunt ghosts.
That sentence would've been a lot funnier if I wrote, "So Greg is going to Philly tonight with a group of ghost hunters--to compete in a poetry slam."
The ghost-hunting thing is one of the many things I don't understand about my partner of 10 years, which is fine because if I understood those many things, I'd've gotten bored with him a long time ago. I mean, I've been with people I've understood fairly well, and I usually end up trying to provoke the unexpected out of them, which makes me an asshole. With Greg, no provocation needed. If he came to me tomorrow and announced he was converting to Islam, I wouldn't be surprised. Or, I would be surprised, but I'd remain unsurprised at my surprised reaction. Living with Greg is like living with a 4th of July celebration--you expect the fireworks to go off at some point, but you're always taken by surprise when they start exploding.
Whenever I roll my eyes at Greg's ghost hunting, Greg grumbles back the 'there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio' line from Hamlet. A fair point; my philosophy is somewhat dour and limiting, allowing for little supernatural wiggle room. And I suppose grown men running around with modified light meters and digital recording devices looking for ghosts is better than grown men running around with modified light meters and digital equipment looking for up-skirt shots. I like Greg's ghost-hunting friends, and like that Greg pushes himself out into the unknown. I just don't think there's anything there to know.
When I was a kid, I lived in a haunted house. Allegedly. It was an old house in an old part of Florence, AL, and at night strange things happened. TVs came on and off by themselves. Overnight guests reported hearing someone running up and down the hallways. Objects set well back on shelves managed to fall to the floor. Sometimes we'd catch movement out of the corners of our eyes, and turn to catch the movement, and see nothing. Then sometimes, there would be something--a physical form we saw and yet didn't see. Odd noises, items moved to odd places. Etc.
The house, btw, burned down a few years ago, taking all of its possible paranormal activity with it.
I like the unknown, which is why I love Greg, and Greg likes the unknown, which is why he ghost hunts. This adoration of ambiguity is probably what keeps us together. But we're really Scully and Mulder when it comes to the ambiguity--I assume there's a logical explanation, and Greg assumes there are explanations left to be found.
So tonight, as he wanders around a building in Philly and I sit in the apartment with Waffles, we'll do our separate ambiguities which keep us together. He'll hunt ghosts, and I'm watching Pan's Labyrinth.
Inappropriate sharing, incomprehensible ramblings, uncalled-for hostility: yup, it's a blog.
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