Can a thing sleep? A house? A door? Is a closed door sleeping? I think I closed a door. I pushed and pushed and it finally slammed shut. I want to pry it open. Dig my fingers in and pull until it swings wide and let’s me through. But it’s not my house. Not my …
i spent a lot of years surrounding myself with people like me. Or who were enough like me that nothing was ever challenged. Don’t do that. It’s dumb. It makes you dumb. It makes you complacent and judgey. I picked my partner based on how different we were. Why’d I think it was okay to …
Maybe the door had always been open and he just hasn’t been paying attention. She’d offered to make breakfast, so she’d probably comeBrown earlier and gotten started and then realized they were out of something snd had gone out to get it. He shot her a text and let her know to grab orange juice …
too tired. But a comic con happened .
Do you ever have those moments in your life (of course you do, we all do, duh) when a thing that is so unexpected clicks and you know that it’s happening, but it’s happening in such a rapid way that it sort of feels like you might careen out of control straight into a wall …
“We will fuck exactly three times,” she said. “The first time, that’s for you. You’ll do what you need and take me until you’re good and done taking.” As she spoke she crossed over to where he sat, hiking her skirt up to straddle his lap. “The second time will be for me. You will …
Don’t want to miss a daily, but in no mood to wax poetic about a day that was rather ordinary and brutally full of people. Over peopled. Over talked. Over it.
I’ve spent a lot of time in parking lots lately. I go do some chores or run around and when im done, I’ll often sit in my car listening to music or sleeping. I’ve got a favorite spot in town right now. It’s quiet, off the beaten path and the view is killer. It’s great …
the goddamn door is back. I’ve written about this mother fucker seventeen ways from Sunday trying to purge it from my stories. I’ve burned it, drowned it, built it, torn it off its hinges with hatchets and bare hands, buried it, carved it and ignored it. It creeps in and sooner or later each of …
….all the time, every day. In fact, I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s ridiculous. Crazy. Sad. I’m not what you need or want; you’ve made that abundantly clear and I’m not writing this hoping you’ll suddenly wake up and see how much better we are together than apart. This past year proves how irresponsible …
Bountiful Words, Beautiful World 