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Each episode begins with a problem displaced onto mythology. Pretending something is lost like servingware perched atop the piano. So we bring with us all the things we imagine are human: Our desire to wash the dishes, arrange furniture, and fold each individual article of laundry. But belief is somewhere else, and unwinding—I scrub away the smudges while dust clings to the window, forget to take my medicine, take readings from instruments. Because every home is haunted if you deconstruct your attachments. If you want the breath of floorboards to be an itch at the back of your neck, a sudden draft so we can say Here. So we distress like sitting in the dark, just listening. Use words like feel or manifest instead of clutching to a pillow. As if a breeze could enter through the closed window—reaching out in a way that is both known and unknown. It is what we make of it: A bundle of every possibility we can imagine. The way we remember fondness as the simple absence of pain. Just say, Here is a house that is haunted because we desire to touch the things that touch us, so badly. What can be concluded aside from that a ghost is just something we desire to see? Another collection of possibilities to grope in our hands, kneading.