Here are some things that have been saved in my Drafts folder with the idea that I will one day expand them into full blog posts (since they have all been hanging around for at least six months, it seems unlikely):
I’m always bad at dealing with the end of vacations. I appreciate the familiarity of my own bed. I like the freedom to cook my own food. I love the people who smile at me on a daily basis. Still, my thoughts on those last few days almost always hover around plots to steal just a little more time. Or how to escape to do it again.
The fact that I come home every time has nothing to do with me not being devious enough.
On the hottest day of the year, the skirt of my red dress flutters against my thighs in the breeze manufactured by the fan. I’ve already thrown every window open, and shoved boxes against all the doors to keep them from closing on what little air presses through the apartment. I don’t sit, because the chair holds too much heat against the back of my legs. I’m wearing that little red dress because it’s the only thing in my closet that I can put on and forget that I’m wearing, all light fabric and short skirt that doesn’t know how to cling.
I shut my eyes and I bathe in the air off the fan, and I listen to the kids playing down the street, echoed and faint under the machine hum just beneath my window. There’s a bird somewhere who likes the heavy sunlight well enough. There’s a sigh and rustle that might be a bold breeze, if I can believe that there is such a thing on a day like this.
I know that it’s hot enough, and in a moment I’m going to close all the windows and turn off the fan, but I’m not quite ready yet. I’m not going to like the hug of the hot, dense air, and it’s going to get too tight when I decide it’s time to use it. I decide, without deciding, that I’ll stay as I am for a moment longer.
One moment passes.
And I’m sighing at myself. Because it’s the hottest day of the year – the only day I can be sure that I will get this to work – and I’m wasting it.
Answers served with a little luck
Kate Kearney searched: Quick, will you help me procrastinate?
Absolutely. What do you think Gwendoogle is for? Just go make yourself a snack and come on back.
Watch this video: Bad Lip Reading – Catching Fire
Play this game: Mahjongg Dimensions
And consider the best way to built a stable bridge, castle, and tower out of old socks.
Answers served with double the trouble, because it’s Apprentice Never Master’s second birthday, and the party doesn’t stop until I say
Bekah Beth searched: Can you be both a ghost and a zombie?
Depending on the mythology, it’s possible. And simultaneously frightening and amusing.
Assuming that zombies are purely a physical continuance of the human existence, and ghosts are purely the loosened spirit once it’s been untethered from the flesh, your zombie could crawl out of the grave and start drooling over your neighbor’s cranium while your ghost sighed in disappointment.
But are they both you? Did the zombie and the ghost somehow split what made you you, do they share it, does one own your essence exclusively, or did your ghost lose your personality when it lost your physical body and your zombie lost it when it forgot to use your brain?
And isn’t the more important question: how much time would your ghost spend running around after your zombie, trying to keep it from embarrassing you by eating squirrel brains?