And then I smile at her. And for the past two mornings, she has stared me straight in the eye and not so much as twitch a phony smile. It’s the oddest thing. I’ll try one more time tomorrow.
I just had a flashback. Cue pulse of blinding white light. I’m in the past. I’m sitting on the floor in the tiled hallway of my childhood home; I’m talking on the phone with my boyfriend. The hallway was as far as the cord could reach. So I pulled the phone from the kitchen and had conversations in the hallway. My
So, everyday since my post the other night, I have been bike riding around my neighborhood. In fact, that’s what I’m doing now. I just wanted to get down my impressions of the night before I forgot, so instead of passing my house I ran inside and grabbed my computer. Started typing. I’ll head back
There’s a part of me that likes to see a high number in my drafts folder. There’s something soothing about not having to start from scratch. Knowing that something is needing you in order to feel whole, quite frankly, feels good. You therapists out there can analyze me if you like.
Don’t you just love those people who are such storytellers that, even when you inform him or her that you’ve heard the story told before, he says, “Shut up and listen to my story,” and just keeps telling it? And we always end up smiling at the same parts, rolling our eyes, laughing out loud, calling out “Oh, whatever!” at
Part One: The door-to-door AT&T salesperson is a bona fide douche. So, the AT&T guy made himself quite comfortable in my home this evening. When I mention to him that he might be a murderer, which is perfectly normal, he laughs it off and says, “Why would I want to lie?” Ughhhh. Duhhhh. Cause you
Imagine this scene. You’ve had a long day. You are late to work as usual and looking to score some coffee. You’re willing to risk the walk of shame to get it. Lauryn at the front desk will give you the eye; your supervisor will glance down at her watch, sending a surefire signal that she
Here’s a scene: Demetrius comes out of his mid-sized hut to find something wrong. He had paid Henry to fix this problem. And now here it is rearing its dumb ugly head in his front yard. Everyone thought that Henry was a man with common sense. That’s why he had hired him. He was wrong,
I hate mouth noises–
the rhythmic chomping, mashing,
cracking and moisturizing.
Write. Write feelings,
write images of