I grabbed for my sticks as I rolled out of bed, threw my legs over--and bounced off the floor.

Ow! What the fuck? Drums first. Eyes second. Where am I and where’s my fucking stool? Ow. Fuck.

“Mattie. Where’s the stool?”

“Mattie?”

“Matilda, where are you, and why the fuck is it so bright in my room in fucking Wisconsin in the fucking morning?!”

I open my eyes.

I’m on the floor next to a bed in a fucking jungle. Sun’s high: it's noonish and springtime according to the smell, light and greenery. What the actual fuck? Do I already have a sunburn? I look up. There’s a roof. An actual honest to god grass thatch roof. And down. A bed. And a 6 foot tall broadleaf plant in the corner, in a pot on a dirt floor. Looks like one of Mom’s plants. Aloe? No. Those were spikey. Agave maybe.

Did I die? Am I in heaven? Looks more like hell. No fire. But probably bugs and sunburn. Definitely hell. Is Neal Peart here? Do they have drums in hell? Fuuuck. Is my Dew gone too? Okay. Okay. Not okay. How do I wake up?

“Matildaaaaah!”

The Agave plant answers. I’d have fallen out of bed again, but I was already on the floor. “Your Personal Digital Implant was not part of your core self, and was left behind in the previous dimension. It is unlikely to answer.”

“Duuuude.”

“I am not a dude. I am Alec, a more advanced form of digital assistant, suited for this reality. I am ...”

“Are you intelligent?”

“In a strict comparison with your personal digital assistant, I am roughly 32,000 times faster. Or was that a pun?” says the plant with a distinct impression of raised eyebrows.

“Smart Alec it is! So lay it on me,” I say, crawling back onto the bed

“I am here in this starter subdimension to assist you in your transition into the more complete level 3 reality. Having just transitioned, you probably have lots of questions, and will need some amount of support. My function is to assist. Do you have questions?”

“Where are my drums?”

“Your drums were a feature of the prior dimension. They don’t exist here”

“How do I get new drums?”

“For the next 5 years, you will be able to buy things from system approved sales kiosks”

“Where’s the nearest drum shop”

“That would be me.”

“You sell drums?"

“I do.”

“How much do they cost?”

“They range from 6 r-thaums up to 600,000”

“What’s a thom? Can I exchange for dollars? I’ve got a couple thou in the bank. Where's the ATM”

“The bank’s gone, Kevin, and the ATM as well, but I’ve been instructed that new arrivals from the external strength dimension should receive 137 r-thaums of credit against the consumption of your reality.”

“What’s the best drum set I can afford? And do you know if there are any gigs I can play at to get more thoms? I need lunch too. How much does lunch cost?”

“Kevin. Can we slow down? Can I take a minute and explain some things about this world to you?”

“Sure thing, Smart Alec. But I’m havin’ trouble waking up. I usually drum and Dew to wake up, but there’s no drums and there’s no Dew. How do you wake up around here?”

“I, much like your Matilda, don’t need to wake up. And in this dimension you don’t either.”

WHA?

S.A. continues as I boggle, “You can’t matter transfer between dimensions. You’ve been bodily reconstituted without the caffeine and B-vitamin withdrawals that you are used to suffering from in the morning. You aren’t actually having trouble waking up. You just expect to be.”

“Duu-uude. You’re right. Smart Alec indeed. Ok. Gimme a sec.”

Blink. The sun isn’t even too bright. Blink blink. This is crazy.

“Ok. Ready. Lay down the groove, man. Wait, why are you a houseplant? And why do you sound like fuckin’ Jeeves from the Woosters?”

“I look like a houseplant because the caretakers determined that a houseplant was the household object least likely to provoke hysteria among humans. And the immobility of the houseplant further decreases the likelihood of negative reactions. My diction was designed similarly to maximize both non-threatening and reliableness indicators in human beings.”

“As to the ‘groove,’ please permit me a moment to describe the situation.”