My Cardboard Balcony

Endure a plane ride from your hometown airport to the Big City and find me on the island with the single tower in the middle of Hope Bay. You'll have to take a ferry there, or you can kayak, though given the weather and the currents, I wouldn't recommend it. Once you reach me, we'll sit cross-legged together until all the lights go out in the buildings in front of me, and we can pretend that it's night forever.

by Belinda Roddie I find this chocolate to be disappointing. See, when I eat this particular brand of chocolate, I expect at least a tinge of euphoria, perhaps even some nostalgia. After all, I used to devour these every Christmas when my mother packed them into our stockings. Sweet, delicate little orbs of cacao delight. They must have changed the recipe, because this chocolate's texture is way off. It's almost like I'm chewing on sidewalk chalk. And that's not the kind of childhood flashback I want. So I won't be recommending it. See, I respect chocolatiers. But these must be crafted by novices now. I think I'll go back to those chocolate-covered biscuits I used to buy at the gas station down the way. They're just divine - the way they crumble in my mouth, the buttery cookie melting with the chocolate perfectly. I'll snag a bottle of wine to go with them, eat the whole pack and down the whole bottle. It's my favorite evening routine. In oth...

Day Thirteen: 2:56 AM. Found a spare bottle of hairspray in the downstairs bathroom. I wasn't aware we had any left. Stuff's been expired for about three years, but maybe it'll still work. Mama Schmidt has been super depressed about the lack of volume in her hair, and this just might be the perfect appeasement gift.

Hello, folks! It's the Cardboard Wife here again and boy has it been a few weeks, huh? But enough about that. Right now, Belinda and I are going to enjoy a lovely weekend at my parents' house. Also right now, we are very tired. I'll be honest, Belinda asked me to write a guest introspection because she's too wiped out to do it, but I think I'm a little too wiped as well, so this is gonna be a short one. So uh... Yeah. Friday. Weekend times. Woo. That's all I got, folks. Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.

Prove It by Belinda Roddie I am a good teacher. I am a good person.

Hello, friend. It's been too long. Where would you like to meet? Would a cup of coffee suit you, or would you rather get something to eat? It's a Friday night; the restaurants are packed. Perhaps we'll grab something small. And we'll wine and dine where the moonlight hits the perfect angle of your condo's wall.

His Raspy Voice by Belinda Roddie His raspy voice was due to all the smokes he swallowed down like red hot candy, and his narrow eyes were bright pink. As I choked down fresh air outside, he opted to stand just a foot away, cigarette between his teeth, the ash descending on his shirt. I wanted to pretend he wasn't mean, or dirty, or uncouth. He wouldn't hurt a fly, right? Still, his words did all the work, and when I finally went home, I knew that my soul had been fractured by the jerk, the guy to whom my mom said, "I love you." I called my real father ev'ry night; his voice filled up the space like warm, clean light.