Hi, it’s me. The ghost in your apartment.

First and foremost, I want to apologize. I know I made a big spectacle when you came to the open house (sorry, again, about your cat). It’s not who I am, and it’s not how I should have started this relationship. I guess I was just nervous and trying to impress you.

Between the rumors and the airborne felines, you probably signed the lease expecting adventure, unexplained phenomena, nightmares; but for the last three months all I’ve given you is a few midnight toilet flushes. Now I may be many things (dead, partially decapitated, lactose intolerant) but I am not a liar. It’s time I gave you an explanation.

You see, when I was alive (bless my soul) nothing made me happier than making people happy. I volunteered at soup kitchens and donated to homeless shelters and laughed at Susan’s jokes even though they were a little racist. To put it simply, I was a people pleaser. So, when I accidentally knocked over that teapot during the first apartment viewing and the tenant say he had always wanted to live in a haunted place, well, haunting just seemed like the natural progression to my afterlife. And here I am, still at it, 100 years later.

Do you see the problem yet? My entire life and death has always been about giving people what they want. But now, as I get into my 100s, it’s time to ask: What do I want?

Don’t you think I get bored of opening and closing the door for hours on end? And flicking the light switch on and off and on and off and on and off and- It’s enough to drive any being (corporeal or incorporeal) insane. Also, I don’t know where the preconceived notion that ghosts are nocturnal came from, but it is certainly not true. Getting up at 3am is exhausting, even if all i’m doing is moaning my own name and hiding all your left socks.

So, a few months ago, I decided to start making myself a priority. For example, now I fake sleep for 8 hours every night, and I do it in your vegetable drawer to absorb nutrients. I’ve also taken up new hobbies, like fitting myself inside the ice chest, trying on all your sheets, and performing puppet shows with the aforementioned left socks. I feel like I’ve finally found meaning in the afterlife, and while I can’t really feel anything, I think if I could it would be happiness.

Whew. I’m so glad to have gotten that off my chest- but I do feel bad you moved all the way here for nothing. As a roomie-compromise I promise to still flicker the lights when you have company over and bang some pots every once in a while