My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie It had been three nights since Heather had gotten any sleep, the thought of what she had done was obviously weighing on her. Her wife noticed this fairly quickly, and after all the tossing and turning, Heather had excused herself to crash on the couch so as not to disturb the love of her life. She tried making coffee and let the dark, earthy odor fill her nostrils like a mucus-y bitterness, yet she couldn't bring herself to drink the brew. It was three AM on the third night. The living room was hot and sticky even with the windows open. It wasn't that she had killed a man. It wasn't that she had betrayed the love of her life. It wasn't even that she had lost everything to chance, or to carelessness. She had a good job, a good relationship, a good paycheck, and yes, a good, clean public record - she hadn't even received a traffic ticket. Heather set the mug of joe down and considered having tea instead. The thought of the powerful hit of mint or...

I wanted to stay in that town, but the climate was getting to me, both physically and emotionally. The dry, cold air made my nostrils itch and throb, and sometimes, when I sneezed, I spotted dashes and splatters of clotted blood on the tissue I used. Morrison didn't want to leave. They were so convinced that this place was the home we could have for our children. But I wouldn't allow it. The overcast skies, the frost, the rain - it was dragging my spirit down.

I want everything to be okay. I want everything to be okay. I want everything to be okay. Please let everything turn out to be okay.

It Feeds On Me by Belinda Roddie Anxiety is a parasite. My brain is its unwilling host.

No update on the OneWord site today. Again, not entirely consistent this month. Oh, well.

A Midnight Hot Dog by Belinda Roddie A midnight hot dog was my favorite snack when summer nights were long, hot, and sticky, and I couldn't sleep. I'd open a pack of those delicious franks, and gleefully I'd heat a dog up and add sweet relish, ketchup, and mustard, all on a sweet bun. It was my favorite weird dream-causing dish, 'cause then I'd dream about cats, one by one, becoming ballerinas as a storm of hamburgers and sausages rained down upon the populace. And then a swarm of butterflies would descend on the crowd and gnaw at the fresh meat. Then I would wake up, suddenly craving a rib eye steak!

I went to the bank to drop off a check, but sure enough, it bounced. "I knew it," I growled, cursing under my breath. One teller seemed to pity me, and the other, stiff-lipped, eyed me suspiciously. Both knew me; they knew that normally, the checks I brought were good. But now that the store I worked at was being run by a guy a little lacking in the ethics department, it was time for me to take matters into my own hands. Literally. I pinned my manager to a wall, held a lead pipe against his throat, and demanded my pay.