A Box of Fiction

I just woke up.

My finger hurts like hell. Don’t ask me why it hurts ‘coz I ain’t telling.

You know what? Bet you probably don’t. I feel icky-fuzzy right now. I’m not for sure why. I feel like I’m supposed to ask somebody something, but I can’t remember who and what I’m supposed to ask. Not only am I icky-fuzzy as a person, but I feel like there are some parts of my memory that are icky-fuzzy as well. Like I know that there’s something but I can’t seem to put a finger on it.

Hmmmmnnn….

Weirdness floods me.

I’m bound to figure it out, but my aforementioned icky-fuzzy memory is not helping.

I’m not sure if it’s all a dream, or if it happened for real.

I’m hoping it was all a dream, like it was just a product of my utterly tired, and un-drunken-yet-icky-fuzzy (yes, unfortunately I’m too much of a good girl to have gotten drunk that night) mind.

Again. Weirdness floods me.

It was probably a dream, ‘coz if it ain’t then I ain’t very happy about it.

And yet again, weirdness floods me.