My Cardboard Balcony

Another week down. Good week overall - bit exhausting. I don't want to go too much into my work, but let's just say I love my classes, even though I'm looking forward to a week off. I really like the school I work at. I like the students. I like the faculty. I like the pay and benefits. When I started working as a teacher, I was told things had gotten better since the pink slips that were handed out like candy to teachers when I went to high school. That there'd be shortages and what not. But...that doesn't seem to be the case. I want to keep my job. I just don't know what my future holds now. It's sad, really - not anxiety-inducing, not angering. Just sad. I feel guilty that the career I've chosen isn't consistent, that I may be forced to hop from school to school as budget crises and underfunding and all that muck get in the way of me being able to stay in one place. It's jarring, and it causes a lot of stress. But I'm just...sad. I h...

Love Hurts (Story #2) by Belinda Roddie I was twelve years old when the feelings really started. And the first target of my newfound affection was going to receive the love letter of a lifetime. Now, when you're a socially underdeveloped Catholic kid living in the suburbs, it takes a few tries to realize that you might be a homosexual. Because I was a huge loner who had just lost their friend group the previous year, I decided that these infatuations I had with other girls were strictly platonic by nature. I just wanted to be friends! Really,  really  close friends. One of those girls among my now ex-friends was...well, to protect the innocent, let's call her Annie. Annie was pretty. She was sporty. She played clarinet and was a huge nerd. She loved Pokemon at the time, which I adored. I hated that we had drifted apart. If only there was a way I could tell her how I felt, a way in which I could rebuild the bridge between us so we could reforge our beautiful friendship! ...

Stay A While And Listen by Belinda Roddie The oldest storyteller was dead. But the stories were not.

Cherry Cider by Belinda Roddie It started sweet but ended dry. So that was nice.

The Dud by Belinda Roddie look at the wiseguy self-aggrandizing emcee billowing smoke, but there's no flame heat, but there ain't a star illuminating he signals a chorus of approval that's as stale as breath in a tin can I hold my ear to it, and I sure as hell don't hear the ocean just steel static, cold as jarred laughter

Scalded by Belinda Roddie My TA accidentally gave me hot water. My tongue hurts.

Road To Hell by Belinda Roddie I couldn't repent; I was the bad guy to him.