Is it too clich�ed to say I want to die?
I was in a flower store with my mom this evening. I browsed by a potted cactus and decided to find out how spikey it really was. I touched it and it fell. I caught it before it hit the ground, and embedded hundreds of tiny spikes securely under my skin. (Let that be a lesson to all you people who have always wanted to pet a tippy cactus.)
I tried for two minutes to get into my car, wondering why the lock wouldn't open. "Green-blue Toyota Sienna, this end of the parking lot, why won't it open?" I asked myself. And then I checked the licence plate. My car was seven spaces to the left.
My right forearm, left wrist and the right side of my jaw itch.