Suburban Bathroom Ghost

I have been watching tv at my parents' house, wearing my dead aunt’s sweatshirt while my dead aunt’s car gets fixed so I can drive it away. Am i dead? I haven’t spoken out loud all day and I feel unsure, only having left a trail of likes online, a little ectoplasmic dribble, a bit of snail-like ooze.
Do i cast a shadow? Am I a vapor?
I check the hallway bathroom to confirm.
Bathroom decor: There’s a lopsided vitrine, a ceramic that looks like a cut paper bag on top of the toilet tank, hollow face illuminated by the white tile. It has a twisted little smile.
How did it die?
On the garage wall by the beer fridge there’s a grisly miniature Jesus on a cross, bloody lines on skin tone, chiseled muscled wood.
The ghost bag is full of air and I'm full of beer.