Stick To What You Love

There's a new set of Acura adverts out that say, "Stick To What You Love." It made me start thinking about what I love. At first I was thinking of who I love, but then I realized that that's not what the advert says. So instead of trying to unscramble that mess in my brain, I thought, "Gee, what do I love?" This is what I came up with:
1. I love people. I have shut myself off from people for a while now, and just recently started opening up my life to people again. I want to make new friends and renew old friendships. I've been delinquent-but no more.
2. I love music. I love going to shows and trying to play instruments. I love singing-to myself, to my cat, to my friends (while they give me crazy looks).
3. I love poetry. I love writing poems, reading my poems to other people and seeing it touch them. I like reading and hearing other's poetry. I like being touched so deeply by a poem that I want to shake the poet and yell at him/her to stop.
4. I love God and I've been delinquent towards Him too. I had a dream about an angel a while back. He told me that I was going to leave the situation that I was in because he was going to take me to "a better place." I'm not really sure what that means or if it means anything at all. I don't really put too much stock in things like that.

Short Story: Distraction

It was an office, not unlike any of the other offices around the city. There were windows, visible to the lucky few cubes on the ends of the rows. Then there was Vera's cube, situated next to the row of manager's offices. Today she was lucky, someone had left their door open and precious slant of sunlight escaped, warming her back and washing out half of her computer screen. "I never realized your hair was red," Tracy dumped a large stack of paper on her desk, "The florescent lights make everything look so soupy." "What is that?" she pointed at the stack of paper. Tracy only offered compliments when he wanted a favor. "I need this entered," he smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "You have a secretary," Vera waved a freckled hand to her left, "Ask him." "He's sick," Tracy gave her puppy-dog eyes, batting his long dark eyelashes. Vera sighed and fought back a smile. Tracy was such a s...

Poetry and Stuff

Grief:Peripheral The flicker of bluish light filters out what is missing; there is only one set of boots by the door, an apple sits on the counter uneaten, and even if you don’t make a sound, the notch in your heart is nothing personal. ____________________________ Yeah, I know I said no poetry, but I lied. From The Culling, because what girl doesn't dream of owning a library with a ladder? I just posted the last chapter of The Bond, which I'm not 100% satisfied with. It is the end of this novella, but the story continues in the next book of the series. One of my biggest problems is I don't have a title for the next novella. The working title was "The Break," which doesn't really work. If you have an idea or two, throw 'em in the comments.

The things people say

1. "I don't know. I don't know what you do." (In response to me asking, "Why would I have a blowup doll?") 2. "What are you saying? I can mouse with my right hand." (From a lefty after he was accused of moving the mouse to the left side of the computer.) 3. "I (hic) gave this girl my (hic) my phone number (hic) and she (hic) she never called (hic) called me." 4. "You're hurting me!" "I'm stabbing your coat." "With a knife!" "So?" "Knives hurt people!"

Refracted Neurons

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