I'm in my house, and somebody - I think Annette - has passed away, but her spirit is restless and unhappy. For some reason she is pestering me by harassing my feet with a stray plastic bag. It keeps blowing up against my legs, tangling my feet. I'm at home in my kitchen, but it seems darker and more woody, especially with this insidious problem.

Somebody else is there, and I'm explaining with some frustration, talking aloud so that the ghost can overhear. "I'm just trying to live my life!" I say, but then I feel bad for complaining about my life to somebody who has unexpectedly lost theirs.