Do You Know What I Mean?_Footsteps_Not Today_For Whom We Are Gathered
Catalog Guide:
Do You Know What I Mean?
I’m having my first cup of coffee at the absolutely ridiculous hour of 2:20 a.m.At 42, which might be the meaning of life, but a shit age to be female, my body went completely rogue on me.I gained 40 pounds in the course of three months; my circadian clock decided that anywhere from midnight to 3 a.m. were perfectly appropriate times to say, “Wakey-wakey, eggs and bakey.” Quite enthusiastically at that. But at 46 now, I'm used to it in a weird way. I don't curse about much anymore at least.The husband tells me, “Just go back to sleep,” as if it weren’t the very first thing I tried when everyth...
Footsteps
Lynnette gave the packaging around the gateau on the worktop a little squeeze. Yes, that appeared to be defrosting according to schedule. Something caught hewww.onedoor.ccr eye through the window, moving across the garden. The fox was back, leaving tracks in the otherwise undisturbed snow as twilight settled over the roofs in the distance.She shuffled a chair out of the way to get to the door on the left-hand side of the dresser. This mighty object arrived when they emptied her grandparents' old place. It was all she had to remember them by. And remember them she did, every time she had to rearrange the fur...
Not Today
She walked to grab her daily ritual from the local coffee shop. It worked for her, she liked routine. Predictable, consistent, and no surprises. She walked the same way every day. Some might call it mundane, boring even, but that is what she liked. She knew it would take ten minutes to the coffee shop, her drink would be waiting and another five minutes to her office. She would always be the first to arrive, and that would give her time to quickly browse her emails and drink her perfect beverage, still at the ideal temperature. Today was not that day, she wasn't expecting it. None of us ever a...
For Whom We Are Gathered
From his vantage point sitting on a strange sofa in an unfamiliar living room, Al grumbled to himself while he watched the various goings on around him. His extended family was large and boisterous and always itching for a gathering. As for himself, Al and his wife of forever years, Ama had a neat little family. Two kids. Imani and Al Jr. Two kids they’d raised to be smart, sensible and classy. A snotty-nosed, laughing child ran past Al, narrowly missing stomping on his feet. I don’t know who the hell are half of these people are? And why aren’t they watching their bloody children? Al m...