My Cardboard Balcony

More Time by Belinda Roddie I could have easily used another week or two to stretch my legs and go stargazing, or drive to the coast and forget that I actually don't like the beach for a day. Or perhaps a month to try new recipes for chocolate pie, or dishes with zucchini and cheese, or mocktails with a curled lemon twist like a chewed off fingernail. Or s'mores heated over the stove because it's too fucking dry in the state to start a fire outside. And then I could go to the piano bar in the city every Sunday without worrying about the banshee screech of my alarm, my lips so close to kissing the microphone rather than wrapped up in gauze in too crowded of a classroom. Or would I really have done any of that, in the end, or would I have just dreamt it?

Damn by Belinda Roddie I do want to write more. I'm just so tired.

Hungry For Literature by Beliinda Roddie Dorothea read thirteen books in the span of one evening.

Nameless by Belinda Roddie I don't have a name by choice. None truly fit me. Not even Nemo feels appropriate. Don't call me anything. Don't address me. I am not here. I'm at a bar, drinking tequila, and pretending the world isn't on fire. This week's prompt was provided by a video call with friends.

Accurate by Belinda Roddie Maybe my mother-in-law is right. Maybe I am the goober.

I go back to work in five days. fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.

Date Night by Belinda Roddie Sushi and noodles. White wine. Luca on the TV. Super Mario Party on the Switch. Lots of cuddles. Works for me.