Keys me!

WHY?

WHY?

Why are you doing this to meeeehh...

Oh, no, I was not talking to my ex.

Yesterday I went home from work, dead tired and ready to jump into bed. On my way home, I was pondering if missing the flossing part before I go to slumber will make my perverted dentist mad. I decided that he needs to be humored and that I need to sleep.

So there I was, dragging my tired feet and inhaling a Marlboro Light trying to unlock the door when I suddenly realized that I didn't have my keys.

Panic, depression, anxiety, and everything blue began enveloping my very soul. Hope was fastly fading away, saying goodbye. Slowly, I felt the terrible pain that I might not get the sleep that I am longing for. I began feeling tiny bumps on my face, all around it. Pimples are slowly creeping their way to my face's damnation. Slowly eating, swallowing the days that I used Proactive. Those were the days that I felt so beautiful, I was so beautiful it hurts. I won't be getting the sleep that I have longed for.

My bag does not have the keys. No part of the bag jingles the keys. No part of the biggest man-purse that I owned bears those keys.

Then a thought. Left hand busy holding the puffed cancer stick. The right busying itself checking and rechecking the big bad bag. Then back to the left hand. It holds the cancer stick sandwiched by the index and middle finger, and inside the palm has something hard and shiny. It was the bunch of keys.

Damn. I really needed that sleep.