...how to find it?!?!?!? You fervently explain to the men in the white lab coats why the hypodermic needle is the wrong color. One of them pulls out a bouquet of flowers and pummels you on the head with it. The flowers turn into a hammer, and your head becomes an anvil. You blow on the hammer, but that doesn't seem to stop that annoying gung-gung sound.
6:07 AM
You wake up on the floor and find yourself clinging to the bed post with a pulverizing headache. The alarm clock has dwindled to a buzzing whine in protest of the overtime it had to put in. You want to turn it off, but the button is too far away, and you would have to get up. You pull the cord out of the electrical outlet instead. Then you remember you still haven't pressed the snooze button, so you drag yourself up off the floor, stagger to the dresser, press your teddy bear's nose, and collapse on the floor again.
6:16 AM
You get tired of waiting for the alarm to ring. Besides, those men in the white lab coats don't seem to want to come back. You drag yourself back up and squint your eyes, bracing against the light. Then you realize that there is no light outside, except maybe about three stars. You stumble over your nice blue shirt on the way to the closet. You find something to cover your legs with, something in the front, and think that your nice blue shirt would go well with it. Now where did that shirt go?
6:30 AM
So you don't find the blue shirt. But you find out that you have a red scarf with a moth hole in the upper left-hand corner, a black patent leather belt, two fishing poles, and a box of Cracker Jack in your closet. Oh, well, now you know, and knowing is half the battle. You throw on a hunter green polyester shirt, the one your Aunt Marjory sent you that still has the Wal-Mart tag on it. Not even wanting to think about searching for something to cut it off with, you tear off the tag, but the little plastic ring thing is still attached to the back of the collar. You decide that nobody looks at the back of your collar. Actually, nobody looks at the back of anyone's collar. Actually, nobody looks at you.
6:45 AM
You trip over the nice blue shirt again. You get mad at yourself for leaving such a mess and hang it up in your closet. The humidity decides to perform anti-gravity tricks with your hair. Miraculously, your new can of hair spray, which you remember with pride that you remembered to buy yesterday, is within reach. You can't find the "no CFCs" logo, so you just water down your hair. Even your toothpaste is nearby, but the tube is nearly out. But a tube of toothpaste never technically runs out. Kind of like your sanity, you think. You figure you should economize, so you push your thumb into the tube and squeeze out that last little bit. Your now purple thumb grips the toothbrush as you imagine the plaque on your teeth disappearing on contact with minty water.
7:00 AM
You realize that your headache is gone. In fact, it has been gone for quite some time now, but you don't know when it started to go away. Not only that, you're hungry. You think you might
be late, so you check the time on your clock. Hmm, that's funny. There is no time on your clock. Just in case, though, you think you had better start for work now. After all, it's a one-hour commute, and work starts at 9:00. You grab your box of Cracker Jack and head out the door.
7:15 AM
You zoom down the freeway in your manual transmission Honda Civic. The box of Cracker Jack slumps in the passenger seat. Your mom, wearing a mauve shower cap and a matching terry cloth bathrobe, appears in your head. You hear your mom's gritty drawl, "Did you forget to lock the door again? Oh, I'll bet you did, I'll bet my paycheck on it, which isn't much anyway, and in my old age of 56, WHY AM I STILL WORKING ANYWAY? HUH?" You protest out loud, "But Mom, I did lock the door." Nevertheless, you take the next exit and turn around.
7:30 AM
You hurry out of the car to your door. Yup, it's locked. But then you suddenly remember that you're hungry. That box of Cracker Jack you found in the closet would be nice for breakfast. And some Tylenol for your pulverizing headache. Since you left your apartment key in the car, you run back to the driveway to retrieve them. You find your keys next to the box. You rush to unlock your door, but you can't find anything you want, and time is spiraling away. You lock your door, get back in your car, and zip away.
7:45 AM
6:07 AM
You wake up on the floor and find yourself clinging to the bed post with a pulverizing headache. The alarm clock has dwindled to a buzzing whine in protest of the overtime it had to put in. You want to turn it off, but the button is too far away, and you would have to get up. You pull the cord out of the electrical outlet instead. Then you remember you still haven't pressed the snooze button, so you drag yourself up off the floor, stagger to the dresser, press your teddy bear's nose, and collapse on the floor again.
6:16 AM
You get tired of waiting for the alarm to ring. Besides, those men in the white lab coats don't seem to want to come back. You drag yourself back up and squint your eyes, bracing against the light. Then you realize that there is no light outside, except maybe about three stars. You stumble over your nice blue shirt on the way to the closet. You find something to cover your legs with, something in the front, and think that your nice blue shirt would go well with it. Now where did that shirt go?
6:30 AM
So you don't find the blue shirt. But you find out that you have a red scarf with a moth hole in the upper left-hand corner, a black patent leather belt, two fishing poles, and a box of Cracker Jack in your closet. Oh, well, now you know, and knowing is half the battle. You throw on a hunter green polyester shirt, the one your Aunt Marjory sent you that still has the Wal-Mart tag on it. Not even wanting to think about searching for something to cut it off with, you tear off the tag, but the little plastic ring thing is still attached to the back of the collar. You decide that nobody looks at the back of your collar. Actually, nobody looks at the back of anyone's collar. Actually, nobody looks at you.
6:45 AM
You trip over the nice blue shirt again. You get mad at yourself for leaving such a mess and hang it up in your closet. The humidity decides to perform anti-gravity tricks with your hair. Miraculously, your new can of hair spray, which you remember with pride that you remembered to buy yesterday, is within reach. You can't find the "no CFCs" logo, so you just water down your hair. Even your toothpaste is nearby, but the tube is nearly out. But a tube of toothpaste never technically runs out. Kind of like your sanity, you think. You figure you should economize, so you push your thumb into the tube and squeeze out that last little bit. Your now purple thumb grips the toothbrush as you imagine the plaque on your teeth disappearing on contact with minty water.
7:00 AM
You realize that your headache is gone. In fact, it has been gone for quite some time now, but you don't know when it started to go away. Not only that, you're hungry. You think you might
be late, so you check the time on your clock. Hmm, that's funny. There is no time on your clock. Just in case, though, you think you had better start for work now. After all, it's a one-hour commute, and work starts at 9:00. You grab your box of Cracker Jack and head out the door.
7:15 AM
You zoom down the freeway in your manual transmission Honda Civic. The box of Cracker Jack slumps in the passenger seat. Your mom, wearing a mauve shower cap and a matching terry cloth bathrobe, appears in your head. You hear your mom's gritty drawl, "Did you forget to lock the door again? Oh, I'll bet you did, I'll bet my paycheck on it, which isn't much anyway, and in my old age of 56, WHY AM I STILL WORKING ANYWAY? HUH?" You protest out loud, "But Mom, I did lock the door." Nevertheless, you take the next exit and turn around.
7:30 AM
You hurry out of the car to your door. Yup, it's locked. But then you suddenly remember that you're hungry. That box of Cracker Jack you found in the closet would be nice for breakfast. And some Tylenol for your pulverizing headache. Since you left your apartment key in the car, you run back to the driveway to retrieve them. You find your keys next to the box. You rush to unlock your door, but you can't find anything you want, and time is spiraling away. You lock your door, get back in your car, and zip away.
7:45 AM