Jenny walked out of the room, her face beet-red, feeling embarrassed and ashamed of the man she brought as her date. Not only had he completely under-dressed for the occasion, even though she told him what everyone else would be wearing, he showed up twenty five minutes late! Then there was the conversation with her boss! He had absolutely no filter, telling her boss about their intimacy and what they did when they were alone together in the bedroom. She would never be able to look at her boss again, not without shame written all over her face. He had been one of her worst decisions ever!
Prolixity- a tendency to speak or write at great or tedious length
Walking out of his cottage, Devon knew by the sway of the branches that stumbling out on a procellous day like today was taking a chance that could have heavy consequences. Devon’s leg had not healed properly, was still very sensitive to the touch, and if he fell he was risking damaging the work the doctors had put into reconstructing his thigh after the accident. Were he a woman, he would choose to wear a Kimono to both hide the bandages and provide the loose comfort his wounds yearned for, but for now he would have to focus only on the path in front of him and nothing else. Knowing his luck he would snag the silk on a twig first thing outside and fray the precious silk anyhow.
Devon wasn’t sure why he felt like heading to Marta’s house now. She was a conversationalist with prolixity and he often wanted to leave her company only seconds after she started speaking.
Upon reaching Marta’s door, Devon cleared his throat and knocked on the heavy, wooden door. He didn’t want to show how much he wanted to see her; but he was here and would stay for a while. When Marta opened the door the first thing Devon was hit with was a strong smell of wild strawberries along with warm air of her oven. He would have to try and coax her to let him try whatever it was that she was baking. She was a fantastic chef and never haughty. Sometimes she even acted as though she had never stepped foot in a kitchen before. Devon was hoping the perilous walk here would be worth it!
Billie knew what the expectation was but she didn’t know if she could go through with it. Becoming someone’s mistress, whether congenial and without sexual motive or not, was not what she had planned for her life moving forward. The problem was, Billie didn’t know how to get along in a new city without a job and no friends. This was the first time she had lived anywhere that she was a total stranger, but this was the change that she needed. Life at home had become too much; stress, bills, arguing. If no one knew where she was and no one here knew who she was, maybe she could start fresh and live her life the way she wanted to.
We walked out to the coop. The heater had been left on for the chickens but with the winds making it feel like 10 below zero, the heater almost was a waste. I tried the door. Frozen shut. This was when I had to trudge back to the garage and look for any metal item I could get to jam in the door and pry it open.
With the door finally pried open, the darkness hid the hens. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I saw that no hens had perished in the cold, they huddled together to keep warm and alive. I moved to fill their feed bin with food and turned to check the water. The galvanized waterer was situated on a hot plate to supposedly keep the water from freezing. I suppose it worked because there was water in the trough for them, except that was frozen from the cold air. This was my only issue with keeping the flock, keeping water defrosted in winter.
We knew mom had gotten into the apartment the minute we saw our mural. All the work we had done, now covered by her image and her famous saying. Did she ever want us to grow up or move on? Billy and I decided after we graduated college that it was time to find our own place. Being twins didn’t mean we had to live together, it was just how life went. Mom was a wreck though. She cried about losing her boys and what would we do if we needed her? Would we have time to make good meals and clean up after ourselves? When it came down to it she wanted her twins to remain toddlers, listening to their mommy with awe and fascination again. Poor mom, she must be really upset to come paint herself on our wall!
Miller walked around aimlessly, searching for the key, the key that would unlock the truth. He was tired of the darkness, tired of the feeling of empty sockets where his eyes once were. Where in this darkness was the tissue, the tissue that held the DNA to rebuild his eyes, make him a member of the “seeing” world? No one had an explanation, maybe that is why Miller felt he had to keep searching. In the darkness, Miller continued, listening to the familiar creak and groan of the old floorboards in his now dark home.
I heard it coming. I could hear the ssshhhh, ssshhh of its feet dragging on the wooden floor boards. I stood motionless. I was behind the curtain but I realized I may have been hidden but I was also trapped. I couldn’t see what was going on or if it was coming closer to my hiding spot.
I looked around for a weapon, anything that would hurt long enough and hard enough to give me time to run. There, on the back of the desk was a pair of scissors. Why hadn’t I thought about cutting a peep hole in the curtain when I had the chance?
Holy shit, is it right outside the curtain? I could hear a deep slow breathing. I quietly moved closer to the scissors. Just as I was about to grab them there was a bang. I jumped out of my skin and started panting like a thirsty dog. I grabbed the scissor and without looking stabbed at the shadow on the other side of the curtain.
Are you a perfectionist or can you take a step back and accept less than perfect?It totally depends on what I am doing. If it is something that should be done perfectly to say it is complete, then I have to stick with it. If it is something I am trying and making a real good attempt but just can’t seem to get there, then I can accept less than perfect. My mother taught me that if you are going to do something do it well or don’t do it at all. I agree that not trying to get it as close to perfect as possible can be considered wasting your time.
How often do you save online articles to your favourites list for reading ‘later’ and more importantly when do you then read them – as in when is your ‘later?’?I save online articles every so often but I don’t think I ever go back to them. Once in a while I will look through my favorites or my bookmarks and check the list out. It is fun to sometimes find something that I had forgotten about. It isn’t that I don’t have an interest to go back, I just don’t have enough time in my life to do what I want and go back to stuff that already happened.
When was the last time that you actively involved yourself in doing absolutely nothing for an hour and what did you do in that hour of nothing?I think it was maybe two weeks ago or so that I decided to go take a nap. For me, that is doing nothing. Don’t get me wrong, some days I fall asleep while trying to get my blog going and what-not but for the most part “doing nothing” means not being productive in one way or another.
When was the last time that you were engaged in a difficult conversation and if you can ‘what was it and how did you do?’I find myself to be engaged in difficult conversations often because I can’t let things just stay open-ended and vague. For instance, someone told me that someone we all know had COVID but didn’t tell anyone! So, I couldn’t “not tell anyone” so I told David. It was a hard decision to find the right time to talk about it because COVID is serious and we take it seriously. So, I said what I had to say and then let it sink in before talking about it further. After losing so much in the past few years I just don’t have time in my life to NOT have the difficult conversations.
Dominic bowed his head to hide his face. He didn’t want his mug showing up all over the news stations. If his parents found out he was one of the protestors they would never let him live it down. They were not the type to engage in such foolery. But Dominic knew, deep down, that fighting, for what you believe is right, is not foolery; foolery is looking the other way at something that is wrong. This was going to be a night like no other. Dominic planned on watching the looters, finding out their tricks and finding out where they kept all the merchandise they stole. He wanted to help bring these people down but watching and waiting seemed so passive. He strolled through the crowded streets just watching and waiting for it all to begin.