What Remains to be Done._Summer in the City_The Plan To End All Plans_Monster of Business Administra
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What Remains to be Done.
Oscar was a writer, or at least that was how he generally introduced himself.. He did not say that he was employed as a shelf stocker at Giant Tiger, which is how he earned most of his meagre income. His short stories would sometimes get published, sometimes for a small amount of money, sometimes for none. His two books had been purchased by friends and family members and few else, the royalties were anything but royal. The editor of the local newspaper did not feel that it was worth her while to have someone interview such an unsuccessful writer, even though it was a small town pap...
Summer in the City
FridayJoy and relief float through the air this morning, like a gentle breeze winding its way through the crowded city bus. Classes are done for the week, and three glorious days of freedom await us. Already a cool breeze cuts thwww.onedoor.ccrough the air, and by Monday there will be more work to do. But for now, we abandon ourselves to the last days of summer and pretend that they will never come to an end.One by one we skip down the steps of the bus, jostling for space on the sidewalk, arm in arm or hand in hand as we wander down the street. We paint a pretty picture, white lace and combat boots, smudged...
The Plan To End All Plans
I've got a plan. It’s one that aims to provide me with a whole-of-life roadmap, if that doesn’t sound too grandiose. It's not complete, not fully worked out to the last detail, although the central thrust of it feels very solid. Anyone who knows me is probably surprised by this. I tended in the past to take each day as it comes. Not anymore. I feel much happier, more centered, my mind more fertile, since I got serious about having a plan.What I want to express with my plan, and my surrounding commentary upon it, is the need for the modern alienated inpidual to replace “God's Plan” with somethi...
Monster of Business Administration
I became aware of the silence, and a thick blanket of dread came over me. I lay in my bed, in the space between being asleep and awake, eyes closed against the darkness.Click. Click.It started softly, like the sound a mouse makes running across a floor. I wanted to go back to sleep and pretend I didn’t hear it.Click. Click. Click-click.Then a scuffling sound, as if an unwieldy bag of rocks was being pushed out of the closet. More clicks, more scuffling. I could feel sweat on my forehead.Click. Click. Click.Louder and undeniable. Getting closer. I felt something at the foot of the bed. I wanted...