I opened my door one morning to a vaguely thick layer of frigid gray fog. My charcoal-colored car, which was parked out front, barely emerged from the winter-like surroundings. I thought to myself that it hadn’t been this foggy this far inland in a while.
As I made my way down my apartment steps towards my car, a felt a small smile creep onto my face. It felt like it was now officially autumn, and not what felt like the perpetual summer, with brief pauses that allowed a chilly breeze, that most Southern Californians were accustomed to experiencing. I didn’t want to jinx it by grabbing a jacket, but I did think about all the sweaters I could now break out of the small “winter” section of my closet. (more…)
I could feel the beads of sweat forming at the base of my hairline. I tried my hardest to subtly dab the evidence of my beginning stages of heat stroke with the sleeves of my cute light-pink sweater that I was wearing in 80-degree weather.
I didn’t want to submit to the rational thought of removing my article of autumn attire. It was now September, and in my head, that meant it was fall. Therefore, I had to jump head first into the shallow end of all the fall-like things.
I didn’t realize that admiring the season of autumn was a “basic chick” thing until the marketing genius at Starbucks headquarters made it socially acceptable to only consume pumpkin-flavored food and drink for three months out of the year. (more…)
OctPoWriMo Day 12: Writing Through Writer’s Block
There are days when there is a need to write and yet nothing to say.
A need to feel a fountain pen in hand gliding across a smooth page,
Or the demand to feel plastic keys move up and down like a ballet.
There’s a mission to move thoughts birthed and housed in gray matter
So that they can entertain and engage others out in the rest of the world.
Those days are the ones where the page is filled up with empty chatter.
The subject evolves from nothing into writing for writing’s sake,
And when the writing’s forced the theme takes a U-turn into procrastination.
Having nothing to say leaves the writer with so much heartache. (more…)
She let her bare foot slowly fall down on to the gas pedal, which made the car gradually speed up on the cool autumn pavement—and as the wheels spun, the car flew forward, and her heart pounded at a heightened pace.
Her hand rose to clutch her chest as if it were trying to catch the throbbing muscle before it leapt out of her body. She began to take a few deep breaths to slow the rhythm’s pace and, as she exhaled to release the carbon dioxide from her lungs into the frigid air, a breathy-whisper followed with a question. (more…)