It is. Nope.
Crap, I’m having trouble forming thoughts, you know. You know. Timmy. No, that’s me! Ha ha ha ha ha. Bobby, he’s my best friend. He’s dancing and a-dancing to the music of the listener player over there. The word – I forgot. The listener player. The handshake.
“What’s that, Timmothy?”
“Ha ha ha ha ha.” It’s funny to hear my big name. The name of fullness. Whatever it’s called. What’s it called? It’s called my “given name.” My giving name.
Oh, wait, I’m supposed to respond.
I don’t know what’s affecting me more – the booze or the weed? Before smoking the booze, the weed wasn’t there. And then. No. Fuck. My thoughts aren’t straight. Before drinking the weed. No. Not that, either.
No, before smoking the weed, I felt pretty gosh-darn wasted, but I think My Thoughts were clear, but there was a line of separation. It was like dizziness. But my thoughts were all connected and in order. Now that I’ve had just a teeeeeny tiny bit of weed. Just a little teeny tiny dollop of smack-dabber weed, I’m all lost and confused.
There’s a way in which I can see EVERYTHING more clearly, and I can put all the ten thousand things into perspective. But there’s another way in which I keep on getting lost in my thoughts. Damn. Shit. Fuck. Fart. I forgot what I was gonna ask Bobby.
What was I gonna ask Bobby? He’s standing there looking expectant, but I think he might be starting to forget that we were in the middle of a conversation. I almost forgot, as well.
“I was gonna ask you, Robert.” Ha ha ha, now I’ used his given name. “I was gonna ask you something.”
“What it was?” says Bobby. “Or, no, I mean, what was it?”
“I was gonna ask you something, and I think it might have been important. But my mind is such a scary sad mess these days, that I’m not remembering too much of what I was supposed to remember.”
“Oh, I think I might see what you mean, but I might have to think about it for a little while, too.”
I hope Bobby doesn’t think I’m stupid for forgetting what I was supposed to ask him.
“WAIT!!!” I say a little too loudly. Oh, hell and shit. What if they call the police? I can’t be that loud and bothering in a public place like this. “Wait,” I say a little more quietly, as if that’ll make up for the loud “wait” from a second ago.
“Yeah?” sez Bobby. His eyes are red. He changed into a white t-shirt and mid-thigh length grey shorts.
“I remember what it is or was I wanted to ask you,” I say.
“What was it?” sez Bobby. “Or is it?”
“I was gonna ask you what that music-playing thingamagigger is over there that you’re listening to. The music thingy.”
“Oh, that’s a good question,” sez Bobby. “I’m glad you asked,” he says in a more formal tone.
But then we both start laughing and laughing our heads off. I think it sounds really funny that he talked in that formal tone just now.