The ghost in the pilates classes
I found a cruel way to play with the boggart who lives in my closet. During my pilates classes, I envision my personal ghost exercising, his feet tied with elastic bands, trying desperately to keep his legs straightened, the belly hardened, as the coach demands. While I am hanging upside down, I imagine the unhappy haunt in the same position, fighting for his breath while counting till 30. I hug the back of my legs picturing the poor lost soul in a vain effort to repeat the movement.
I know, these are not edifying thoughts. But it becomes very easy to say "ridiculous" then, and see that spectre turning into an almost invisible cloud of smoke.
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