I am sitting here at this computer typing because if don't keep my mind busy with something I think I might go crazy.
It must've started last night after the poker game. Maybe. Some of the guys were complaining about an itch or a rash or something. Can't remember if I did too. Too much drinking. I left the game early and crashed early and woke up in the middle of the night. I felt fine then. I really did. Wandered around bored and it looked like cabin was finally full and somebody had moved in to that last empty room down the hall from me. Wide awake at three in the morning I figured I'd do the blog thing again for Art. It'd been a really good day and I had a lot to write about and
It's gone now what I wrote before. I'd been writing for twenty minutes or something when I started to feel strange. Light-headed, maybe, a bit cloudy in the head. Then this tingle, this prickling sensation that crawled around my body like a small swarm of insects. First I thought it might be drugs--had some prick sprinkled something over the pizza?--but I'd never felt anything like this before. It wasn't painful, just . . . odd. Uncomfortable at times, sometimes almost pleasurable, like a shiver running up and down your spine.
I must've zoned out for a bit, lost in this weird feeling and just staring at the monitor. Then I shook my head and I suddenly snapped out of it. I remember that very clearly. It was like when you're half asleep and just starting to drift off and suddenly your whole body jerks, snapping you awake . . . yeah, just like that. Almost fell off my seat. My fingers were still resting against the keyboard. I could still feel that crawling tingling feeling, throbbing strong to weak . . . my fingers twitched to finish whatever I'd been writing . . . I immediately knew something was very wrong.
Wrong. Wrong? Holy shit what the hell is
Can't lose it now but -- when I first looked down at my fingers -- I'll always remember that -- how small they suddenly seemed, and the well-formed nail, rounded and reaching just a little past the tip. They were my fingers but they weren't. They moved when I wanted them to but they weren't mine, they were . . . a girl's fingers, small and slender. Then I raised them up to my face and long hair fell across my eyes and when I fell back my chest and I must've called out and
It's still happening. I just went to the bathroom and checked in the mirror. The tingling feels like it's deeper now, squirming around inside of me. I passed one of the guy's room on the way, Mark I think, he'd left the door open and there was light from outside falling on the bed and . . . and that wasn't a guy in the bed. But then, that wasn't a guy staring back from the mirror.
I'm still changing I'm going to . . . I
I have to get the hell out of here.