I need a hand

I started writing this last night, and, as what usually happens when I start writing anything, I got stuck.. I wrote a page and a half, well, almost 2 pages, I guess... and don't know where to take it from here.. it seemed like a neat idea at the time.. so, I thought I'd start a wiki type thing, where you guys could give me an idea of where I could go.. and if it happens to go anywhere besides this site, I'll be sure to give you kudos.. *G*

I call it, The Halluciantion:

The sun was drying out the fluids in the back of my eyes, as it usually does on the mornings when I don’t want to get out of bed. I instinctly reached over to pull down the blind, and subsequently found myself on the ground. I opened my eyes finally, and realized that I wasn’t in my nice, cozy bedroom, but had been laying on a park bench in a park that I didn’t recognize.
I stood up, and in brushing myself off, I noticed that I was wearing one of the ugliest dresses I’d ever seen. It was white, with red polka dots, and had frills at the bottom. When I looked at my hands, I noticed that I was wearing white gloves, with little white rosebuds on the wrists. I look down, and I was wearing maryjanes on my feet, with white ankle socks. This was definitely not an outfit that I would wear day to day.
I walked along the stone path and came across a marble fountain. It wasn’t running, but it is was, the water would have shot up about five feet before coming back down again. In the early morning stillness, the water was smooth as glass. I took a gander at myself in the water, and near fell in. It definitely was not me looking back, or it was, I wasn’t sure. It was my face, with my blue eyes, but the hair was blonde ringlets, and my skin was almost pure white, except for bit of red high up on the cheeks. I looked like a fucking china doll.

This was all too much. I had to sit. I had no idea where I was, or how I got here. I must have been on one hell of a drunk the night before to end up in a predicament like this. There was a chessboard set up, with a chair on either side, so I sat down. I played with the chess pieces, lost in thought. When I looked up, I saw that a small dog had joined me.
He was covered in dark brown and black curly fur, like someone had just given him a perm. He had floppy ears, but short ones, and not very big. He stared at me for a few minutes, then he opened his mouth, and he spoke with a strong, but not too deep voice.
“I am your spirit guide,” he said.
“Really?”
“Nah. I’m just fuckin’ with ya. You seem lost.”
“I suppose I am. I’ve no idea how I got here.”
“No one does.”
“What?”
“Never mind. My name’s Rog. What’s yours?”
I thought about it for a few minutes, Then I started to panic. I couldn’t remember my own name! How was I supposed to remember how the hell I got to this place if I couldn’t remember something as simple as my name?
“Can’t remember, can ya.”
“No, and I don’t know why either.”
“I couldn’t remember my name either. At least you can talk. Some who arrive just mumble. There’s one fella who wanders around, he kinda looks like a big, hairy smurf. All he does is giggle. I call him Giggles.”
“It works, I guess. So, if you couldn’t remember your name when you, as you say, arrived, how did you get known as Rog?”
“Jimmy gave me my name.”
“Who’s Jimmy?”
“He’s the guy who runs this park. We think he’s been here the longest. He may even know how to get out of this joint.”
“You mean, you can’t leave?”
“No, well, I don’t think so. It’s so huge, I’ve never been able to find the gate. I think Jimmy made it that way, so that we couldn’t leave.”
“There has to be a way out of here.”
“I ain’t never found it. Hey, since you’re here, you might as well have a name, you got one in mind?”
“No, do you?”
“Um, sure. How about Dottie?”
“Why Dottie?”
“Your dress.”

Rog jumped down off his chair, and started walking back down the same stone path that had brought me here. He looked back, beckoning me to follow. This was a strange world, and I had so many questions. I figured it was better to have a friend with me than to be alone. Rog showed me a few of his favorite haunts. There’s a hotdog cart that’s always full, there’s the playground, which had a couple of the mumblers that Rog spoke of on the swings. But the best was the fish pond. Rog said that this was his favorite place, because the water was always perfect for swimming, and if you went there at twilight, the fish would sing you to sleep. It was a very beautiful place, but it wasn’t home. The problem was that I was starting to forget what home was