Ghost town

I watched this movie on a flight a few months ago. It was dreadfully cliché: Greg Kinnear is dead and Ricky Garvis Gervais (British Office creator) is the only one who can see or hear him. Et cetera.

. . . . .
Two nights ago the same terribly obvious plot was my nightmare; a sinking suspicion that no one could see or hear me. I wandered tentatively at first, careful to avoid confirming the fear. Having fully lapsed into that thoroughly unenjoyable state, I approached someone I used to know. All of my senses palpable, but I was invisible. Untouchable. Trapped.

Maximum duress, I awoke. What a curse! To be stranded in the realm of consciousness with no way of interacting, of being felt.


The desire to rearrange, expressed even in limited-flailing capacities, is purpose. The ability to communicate, to interact, is blessing. Reach out, optimize.