Tomorrow I’m going to talk to dead people. I’ve done this before, you know – a lot of times, actually. I find them to be mildly interesting, and occasionally cryptic, but for the most part, I get to control the conversation and I have yet to hear a single objection to any opinion I’ve offered. I would have to say that they’re an agreeable sort. Consider this – never has one of the deceased tried to cheat me, make weight jokes at my expense, or suggest I would burn in Hell because I’m a liberal.

These days, most of my friends are miscreants. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Not all of them, but the ones I see or talk to frequently have ruined it for the others. They work too much, spend way too much time with their families, and hardly ever want to talk about anything cool like ghosts, or UFOs or Big Foot. They just want to discuss the market, or how little Johnnie is doing in baseball this year. They’re out of touch and way too self-absorbed.

My children are all crazy. Yes, I said it – crazy. Looney Tunes, out of their mind, half-a-bubble-off-plumb crazy – all this moving from one place to another, and spending all their money on diapers and Cable. Who cares if Junior is eating short ribs at 14 months. Good grief! Let me know when he’s in college. You know, when I was a kid, we used to walk 12 miles to school – call me when the little bugger can do that!

My mechanic collected $1247.14 from me for the pleasure of not fixing my car properly. He’s very sorry, and wants me to bring it in again tomorrow, but I have dead people to talk to tomorrow. He knows that. I told him. Maybe he didn’t believe me. Maybe he just doesn’t have his priorities in line.

My neighbors are just rude. The little punks across the street sit out on their steps every morning eating fruit or cereal in a Styrofoam bowl with a plastic spoon. Their parents don’t trust them alone in the house while they’re working, so they roam the streets all day, and deposit their Styrofoam in my recycle bin. Of course, the big noisy truck rejected my entire load at 6:15 because there was breakfast dishes in the can. Wonder where that came from? My other neighbor was up cutting his lawn at 7:00.  I rest my case.

The pharmacy couldn’t fill my eye drops in three days, and then tried to overcharge me. The grocery store sold us ground beef that was already brown in the middle. The gas pump didn’t work. Kids on skateboards fell right in front of our car. My doctor is leaving her practice in the middle of my post-op. My mother thinks the democrats want to kill old people. My sister goes nuts trying to convince her otherwise. The iBookstore messed up my pricing mechanism. The produce stand sold me an ear of bugs masquerading as corn. And the piece-de-resistance – I broke a plastic bag full of goo from summer camp that ran all over the table, floor, and attached itself to the nose of my dog.

Now, these dead people don’t carry any baggage with them. I don’t know them very well – it’s hard to get chummy with someone you can’t see and don’t hear until the next morning, but I still recommend them highly. They’re usually very respectful and almost never have a discouraging word. Usually, they live simply and don’t try to suck the life out of you with phone calls and requests for time or money. When was the last time you ran across a dead person who cared about your politics? I didn’t think so. I’ve never had to ask one of them to clean up their mess, make their bed, or remember not to leave goo from summer camp on the living room table.

So, I can’t wait! I am expecting it will be a quiet evening with the disembodied. No complaining about the rotten selection on Netflix. There won’t be any nonsense about turning the air-conditioning down, or grilling me about how many calories I’ve had today. “Why do you need a dessert? You had an entire meal!” Not one of my friends from beyond the veil will ever give a hoot about how bad I look in those jeans. There will be no “I told you so” comments, no discussions about my smoking too much, no requests to borrow $20, and I guarantee you there won’t be any goo.

I guess what I’m saying is thank God for the paranormal. It’s like a vacation! Just when the whole world is about to come crashing down around your already sagging shoulders – there it is, just like the Lone Ranger or Bohemian Rhapsody uninterrupted.

I’m going to talk to dead people tomorrow, and believe me – there’s nothing wrong with me. Right?