What I know now that I didn’t know before is that people don’t really fear death. What scares people is the act of dying. That’s the part that gets us. I should know. I’m dead. Being dead isn’t at all very different from being alive. When I was alive, I used to think that as a ghost I would do all that crazy stuff like walk through walls and scare white people. That’s not the case. I spend most of my time walking around looking at people. Living people. That’s the one thing that sucks about being dead. As a dead man, I realize how stupid life really is. If I had known that, after being hit by a bus while helping that lady cross the street, I would have nothing to do but watch other people, I would have taken it easy in life. I wouldn’t have worked two jobs, I wouldn’t have gotten married, and I definitely wouldn’t have watched what I ate. Basically what I’m saying is that after death I really understood what Fiona Apple meant when she called this life bullshit.

Don’t get me wrong. I wish I were still alive. And being hit by that bus kind of hurt But death has its perks, too. I never have to sleep, even though I like to. I never have to change clothes, I’m stuck in the same three-piece suit that I was wearing when I got hit. Also, I can actually walk through walls, but I don’t because my parents raised me to have some respect. Death is alright. I really can’t complain. The truth, though, is that I’m not sure of where exactly this is going. I don’t know if this is considered purgatory, or heaven, or if I just jumped out of my body like Bill Cosby in Ghost Dad. You would think after you die, God would reveal himself, but no, I am still very much in the dark on that subject. I still go to church. Every now and then, just in case.

There are others like me. I don’t really like them, though. For the most part, they are all overemotional bastards watching over their families, hoping to make contact with them someday. The way I see it, though, what would you say to them? “Hi, I’m dead, and all I ever do is watch your every move, have a nice life with me looking over your shoulder every goddamn minute of every goddamn day.” It’s just creepy. I prefer to stay in my apartment and watch T.V. and walk around when I want to. I’m sure my wife is fine. She’s probably dating or crying over me or, most likely, living her life. That’s what I would expect from her. Mourning was never Alice’s thing. Still, I hope she cries over me, it would make me feel wanted.

My apartment. I live with this girl named Maurine. She is living and doesn’t know I’m around. She likes Saturday morning cartoons and B-movies so I pretty much stay there until she starts playing her Aaron Carter CDs that none of her friends know she owns. That’s when I go for my walks. Except when she dances in her batman underoos. I stay for that show.

All in all, death is pretty much like being homeless. I sort of have a place to live, I don’t shower, and I am as broke as they come. I would rather be dead than homeless, though. I wouldn’t want to smell, or pee in a jar then keep the jar to warm my face on cold winter nights, or anything like that. That would just plain suck. Being dead is better. Remember this for when you die. Life is good. Death is okay. Being homeless would suck. And walking through walls and scaring white people isn’t as funny as one might think. Go on and have a good life.