dtnixon
Beforehand, there's a wrist.
He never really wanted to be a writer, so he used adverbs as much as possible. They defended him from being noticed or read by anyone.
I am a disciple of alcohol tonight. I will learn from it, respect it, and put it on a pedestal. Then I will realize its secrets. It will tumble from the pedestal like me from my bar stool at 1 a.m.
I kneed to learn how to spell
I'm 24 and I cannot reconcile the fact that for me to have a comfortable life, someone else must suffer.
The bigger pictures is that oil must continue to flow for the greater good, while groups of people have their ways of life destroyed as a direct result of it.
Debates on the subject often result in the statement "well oil is used for so many things, we can't just give it up." That's a very similar argument to what an alcoholic would say about his/her alcohol.
I found anonymity in denim.
When life gives you lemons, take those lemons and stop using this cliche because I'm tired of it being beaten to death.
The brisk fall air welcomed me as I limped out of the car.
I stopped to look. The sun was setting over the nearby mountains. It was the first sun we'd had in a few days of rain.
There's something reflective about those brief moments. That sliver of sunlight fills you with a hope you didn't realize you were missing.
I smiled and picked up my crutches.
My life is overcooked.
I left my hopes in the oven too long.
I spent too much time boiling the pleasures in my life.
I couldn't find the sweet spot. The spot that cooked them perfectly. I always chose too much.
Too much. Until it was overcooked.
The two girls giggled.
"Her braid is so ugly," said one.
"I know. Who did it, her mom?"
They said it just loudly enough so Tammy would hear.
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writing since 2013 · 16 entries · 13 days shown up
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