Momnesia

Going into D.T.s

AUGUSTA, GA. - My tongue feels like sandpaper. Every cell in my body screams for mercy. And yet the refrigerator laughs in my face.

In a panic, I sprint out of the kitchen and into the editorial department, flinging my red plastic cup and myself on the floor. I gasp. I writhe. I moan.

A.W. and A.C. look on, nonplussed.
"You out of Diet Coke?" A.C. asks.

"Oh god! I'm dying!" I wail.
She reaches for her purse and calls to me as she would a drowning man: "Hang on, Stacey!"
I claw my way towards her as she holds out money for the vending machine.
"Thanks, A.C." I haul myself off the floor and walk towards the hallway again.
"No problem."