My Brain is Egg Smooth Today.

Not a wrinkle to spare. And bald, too.
I got dumbed in the night.
I'm lucky I got dressed. Or even knew what pants were. (Thank you guy at Walgreen's...and then Google.)

I've hired a typist named Kimberly to help me, since I forgot how to press the letters, or even what they mean. She seems nice enough, although I wonder if she's typing what I tell her to...I can't read either. I'll ask.

"Are you typing what I ask you to, Kimberly?"

She smiles and says, "Don't you worry."

"Type that so they know I asked." I tell her.

Kimberly looks at me and smiles.

I smile.

Kimberly smiles.

I smile.

Kimberly smiles.

Kimberly bursts into tears.

Unsure, I burst into tears.

I think I need to go home. I hope I remember my house number.




[Does anyone here know what's going on? She seems like an okay person and everything like that, but I'm worried that she won't be able to get home by herself. Is someone coming to pick her up? - Kimberly]