Something is Happening During the Time I Can't Remember (Part 1)
I'm only writing this because I don't know how much longer I'll be myself. I have nobody left to listen to me, and I can’t exactly blame them. If anyone reading this has experienced anything like what I'm about to describe…please tell me I'm not alone.
It all started with a few missing minutes here and there. Far enough apart that I never really realized it was happening, but in the past few months it’s gotten worse. I’m losing hours now, sometimes half a day even, but I always wake up in the same spot — sitting on my decrepit, moth-eaten sofa in my shitty rundown apartment wearing nothing but my underwear.
In the beginning, it was easy to make excuses. I’d be eating dinner and suddenly the next bite would be cold. I’d be watching TV and miss a scene or two. Little things. Things anyone in their right mind would just explain away. I blamed stress or exhaustion. I had more than my fair share of both. I realize now how stupid all of that was.
The first time I really noticed it was after I started working again. Long, boring hours at the supermarket left me nothing to do but let my mind wander. That’s when I finally started to understand what was happening. I was stocking the soup aisle — the most monotonous task one could ask for — and suddenly, I was halfway down the aisle and every shelf behind me had been stocked. But the cans were stacked messily, labels misaligned and multiple cans in the wrong section. Shoddy work.
I just zoned out, I told myself, it happens all the time.
But I didn’t.
I’d zoned out before — lost focus — and this was not it.
This was something else.
The fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling were way too bright all of a sudden. Halos of white light beat down on my skull as my breath shortened, I reached wildly in search of something to steady myself, but instead I found my ass flat on the cold linoleum. Turns out that was the shock I needed. The lights dimmed again and I stood back up slowly, heading to the break room.
I walked straight toward the fridge without thinking, and, as if on autopilot, found myself pushing aside one of the ceiling tiles above it. Before I knew it, I was holding two shooters: one whiskey, the other vodka. I barely ever drink, but I didn’t even cough as they slid down my throat. If anything, it was almost comforting as the warmth traveled down into my stomach. I needed to sit down, and not on the floor.
“Evan?”
Shit. It was my boss.
“Hey Jack,” I said, turning around and sliding the empty bottles behind my back without thinking, “what’s up?”
“Nothin’ much,” he said, scratching his patchy beard as he stared intently at me, “but you already took your break.”
“Right… yeah,” I muttered back, “...I’m not feeling the best”
“I can tell. You’ve been doing shitty work all day,” he said, “even had to get Carly to fix your fuck-up in aisle three.”
Aisle three? I hadn’t been close to aisle three all day. My stomach dropped instantly. I grabbed the edge of the table to keep myself from falling, and I broke out in a cold sweat
“Just take the day off. I can’t deal with any more messes right now.”
And I did. I walked right out of there and back to my apartment.
This was all I could remember right now. If I remember anything else, I’ll try to write it down while I still can.