ltennyson
So satisfying, the feel of the chalk as it kisses the board. Click, click, click! I think I became a teacher because I loved writing on the chalkboard and listening to myself talk. I miss the chalkboard. But I still talk to myself.
The limo parked outside the suburban ranch house on a street in Phoenix. The limo was waiting for me to emerge from that house to make the journey to the church where I would lose my identity and take on a new name--waiting to take me to my almost-death, marriage.
She trudged across the Mohave, on the way to her house, thinking that she's seen this scenery in countless movies. Everywhere is Kingman, she thought, as she gulped from her canteen.
Strong? Strength is an illusion. It's all just bluster and hype. Those that appear strong are just better at appearing that way. We are all mountains of jelly inside.
I was sitting on the park bench in the dappled sunlight on that crisp fall day, contemplating my place in the universe--and the gray pigeon plopped on my hair! Story of my life!