My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie You'll never guess where I found my earplug this morning. In my mouth. My earplug wound up in my freaking mouth. It tasted like earwax and regret. And I'm pretty sure it could have choked me. I don't think I'm going to wear earplugs again tonight. This week's prompt was provided by Arden Roddie.

Wow. Um. Yeah. So. That was one Hell of a first week back at school. I honestly don't even know where to start. It's been mostly good; it's even been great, honestly. First of all, I got to go the premiere of the film I was a part of, both cowriting its script and costarring in it. That was super fun, and I got to spend time with some amazing artists, actors, and filmmakers. I am so grateful to have such an opportunity to return to acting and participating in such an intense project - and I even got a few people's cards out of it after they saw my real estate agent role! As for my actual work, my classes are all pretty damn manageable - some chatty, a few students who definitely need extra support educationally and emotionally - but all really good kids. Don't get me wrong: I liked my classes last year, but some of the students were really tough to manage. The sophomores I have now seem really down-to-earth, with good senses of humor and a flexible mindset. An...

Literally Miniature Golf by Belinda Roddie Only people the size of marbles can putt this course.

Listen to me, for you are my everything. You are and shall always be my lifelong companion. I hold you in my arms so that we share warmth together. I kiss you on the head so that you remember human touch. Listen to me, for you are fading. Your fingertips are ashen as your eyes turn gray. You are becoming as frail and fragile as the dust lingering on the page of a book. And I aim to preserve you for eternity if I can.

Some Bengal Spice by Belinda Roddie Some Bengal Spice tea soothes me this cool night in August, as I stretch out my tired bones and let my aching body rest, a slight angle to my slouching posture. At home, my mind rampages despite how weary I have become after quite a long day. It's strange how my thoughts linger on dreary patterns when the sky outside isn't gray, save for the smoke that covers up the sun in a thin sheet. I drain my heavy mug and let my mouse run wild against my thumb as I navigate screens and pictures. Tugged this way and that, my brain flails, and it screams. I hope that I may have much calmer dreams.

There's a place called Heaven to the north of my hometown - a restaurant that serves only oatmeal and tea. Somehow, the spicy brew makes me feel like I'm on a raft floating in an ocean just bubbling with the stuff. Everything is like a sauna. Everything is so warm. I thought that was more Hell than Heaven - or is it just climate change?