For the longest time it was believed that memory was infallible, a true record of events. Nowadays we know better. But somedays I look back and I swear it wasn't just a horrible nightmare. Somedays, everything becomes hazy, with nothing but the ticking of the clock, the buzzing of the fridge calling to me from afar. Other days I am grounded and in my body, the all powerful author of my own narrative. Today I'm somewhere in between, caught in the middle of where I come from and where I'm going.