My Cardboard Balcony

Wow. Guess I didn't really have much of a summer, huh? In just three days, school starts again where I work. I've revised my syllabus. I've added students to Google Classrooms. I've gone to two work days on campus, where I've dealt with a new main classroom, a new studio, and some technological issues. I have chosen most of my Yearbook editors, and while I'm still navigating my unit schedule, I am pretty much ready to roll for my English classes. It's going to be an interesting year. More difficult than last year? I dunno. Maybe it'll just be difficult in different ways. I think my Yearbook staff is more grounded this year, though I have no idea how my English classes will turn out. A student came by and introduced himself, so that was cool, but we'll see. I've got two very male-heavy classes at the beginning of the day, so we'll see how that goes. Teaching at this school for a second year will certainly be an adventure. But for now, I ...

Urbia by Belinda Roddie In this city, we eat snakes for breakfast. With coffee.

We're Dancing by Belinda Roddie We're dancing in the ocean after ten, and Jesus would be jealous of our poise, our toes bobbing along. We can suspend our bodies over salt and foam and noise from deep beneath us. Whales sing lullabies as I dip you in my arms, while the breeze skips across waves and up to darkened skies. A confused man glides by on water skis, but we don't need to explain ourselves. Stars come out one by one, lighting up a path back to the shore. The sound of passing cars bring us back to reality. We slap the water off our feet, toes dredged with sand, as we remember both our lives on land.

He slaves away at his desk all night, the sweat collecting in strings across the nape of his neck like brand new hairs he doesn't want. As his fingers cramp, he checks the time and realizes how long it's been since he's slept. Half a day now. He edits and omits and changes and adds until the world outside is dark again. And yet, he is not even a third of the way through. Data entry. He has to be the ghost writer for a memoir about data entry.

Dyes & Dolls by Belinda Roddie Purple hair and nail polish leaving tattoos on porcelain I feel like you are recoloring the world around you Simply staining yourself in personal vibrancy isn't enough