The voice cut slowly through my head like a dull, rusty saw.
I woke up.
"Shut the hell up," I whispered and turned off the evil noise box.
Big mistake. My own words and my reaching over made my already pounding head hit a 7.2 on the Richter scale.
My mouth tasted like a gorilla took a dump in it.
My skin hurt.
The pain pills were in my pant's pocket.
Where were my pants? I thought.
I couldn't remember. It hurt to much to think.
I'll find them.
I gingerly slid out of bed. So far, so good.
I stood up.
Bigger mistake!
"Holy shit!" I screamed. I saw a white flash and crumpled to the floor.
Last night I did my best to forget and today it's all coming back to me.
I crawled around my room looking for my fucking pants.
I knew they were in there somewhere.
I moved like one of those guys in a foreign legion film. The one who's lost out in the desert, crying "Water... water..." and then, just as he's about to die, finds an oasis.
I saw one pant leg sticking out from under the bed and I moved as fast as the pain allowed.
I reached my oasis.
I stuck my hand in a pocket, pulled out the pills and took a handful, dry swallowing them.
I needed a doctor.
The phone woke me up. I waited, hoping Fran would pick it up.
It was dark outside. She wasnât home.
It was Greg.
He told me he was checking on that doctor for me and asked if I felt better than I did this morning.
I thanked him, told him I felt a little better and we wished each other a merry Christmas.
We hung up.
I looked around in the darkness for my pants.
