I kept waking up. Every hour or so I rose from my slumber with troubled and disturbing thoughts. There was a ghost in my room and she was trying to wake me up by sticking a feather in my ear. Now that I think of it, it's kind of funny. But she wasn't laughing. She wasn't malevolent. She was calm and without emotion. I turned over and realized my hand was sticking out of the covers, like it usually is when I lay on my side like that. So I tucked it under the quaint quilt, worried that she would mess with my hand next.
Thanksgiving morning I woke up, drooling all over the place, to the kisses of my soft, sweet girlfriend. "It's Thanksgiving!", I said as I stumbled to the bathroom. Was I hung over? I felt woozy. I was annoyed that the ghost had robbed me of so much sleep.
