bottle cap mishap.

As I opened my eyes, their lashes brushed lightly against my comforter, which had been haphazardly flung over my head in a desperate attempt to avoid the sunlight flooding through the attic window positioned almost directly above my bed. I pressed my thumb curiously against my left middle finger and, as anticipated, a long, thin cut throbbed dully at the tip. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, causing my lips to twitch as my muscles tried to recall the action into their functional memory. It had been a while since I had made the attempt to smile.

Bewildered by the subjects of my nightmares - I had dreamt, most fretfully, about eating dairyful icecream, and the reappearance of my ex-housemate, kyle -I remained in bed with the covers over my face. I felt both terribly guilty and horrifyingly satisfied about eating the icecream, and a rising, seething anger grew in my belly as I recalled the fictional event; anger directed toward the action itself, as well as the action as a representative for all my impulsive/compulsive behaviors. As for the dream involving Kyle, well, he had been mad at me, and probably is beyond my dream-state. That thought brought no rush of feelings whatsoever.

I had been exceptionally drunk last night and retired surprisingly early, though perhaps at a completely reasonable hour given how early i had started drinking. It had been an odd night, last night. I hadn't prepared to be in such a large group of people. People always make me feel uncomfortable, especially when they inquire about the nature of the injuries to my thumbs and their origin. I really have to make an effort to stop that habit.

Those thoughts quickly evaporated and I began to pick at my right thumb as a sudden recollection hit the tip of my brain with appropriate force: Jaime, holding my cell phone in the dark of Elaine's room, talking to my boss on the phone while Kate and I giggled wildly on Elaine's bed. I smiled for a second time, forcing my muscles to assume the unfamiliar pose once again. She had quit my job for me. I hadn't been able to do it myself, and though that perhaps that makes me a coward, I refused to dwell on that notion at that moment, especially not on that moment, not when I was finally free!

Free! Free to feel my face twitch from under the bedsheet yet again, knowing that I will never again have to wait on a single table at that establishment or listen to Hota's (sic) annoying banter about diet teas.

Having mulled over the last twenty four hours for an unhealthy amount of minutes, I sat up, back against the wall, and faced Kate, who's face was turned toward mine from behind a glowing computer screen. Her eyes, heavy lidded and gleaming, bore signs of similiar recollection, and subsequent recognition. I reached for my cellphone, checked the screen, and triumphantly ignored the voicemail I was certain had been left by my boss, well, ex-boss actually. With hope, I crawled back under the layer of blankets from which I had just emerged, and curled into a comfortable ball. The corners of my mouth tugged at my brain again, but this time there was only the slightest delay in the action they were trying to perform, and I smiled broadly without reservation.