So honestly I’ve been scaring myself to the bones lately, you know, shivering my own timbers. It’s my memory. I can’t remember things I should be able to. Like right now, I know I have underwear on, but I can’t remember which pair, and I literally got dressed a half hour ago. Sure, my memory has no problem recalling what girl clogged my friend’s toilet back in middle school, yet it seems to struggle with the important stuff. Not that what undies I’m wearing is important, but probably some other forgotten things are.

For example, I have the word KING written in black marker on the back of my hand, and it might have major significance. I wrote it yesterday at the library and when I got home I had no idea what it meant. At first I thought maybe Stephen King, but I just knew that that wasn’t right. An actual king, like a monarch, didn’t tickle my fancy either, and it wasn’t Kings grocery store—although their pastry department tempts me daily—because why wouldn’t I have added the S? To save ink?

Could it’ve been King like the chess piece, or “King Me” for checkers? I don’t know, but I really hope not. I mean you gotta be really messed up to marker your hand with something that has to do with checkers.

And it haunted me and haunted me, like Will Smith’s performance in Wild Wild West. I was talking to my mom on the phone before I went to bed, but what about, I don’t know. All I could think of was KING. I think she might’ve been talking about something serious, too, but who knows. Eventually, I asked my wife if she had any thoughts on the matter and she kindly offered, “What are going to forget next, that your baby’s in the car?”

Is there anything I’m missing, because I need help.  A playing card, a king-size bed…I may never know. But I will say this. Whatever it is, it’s probably stupid.