She was so frustrated at being constantly referred to as "edgy", but the more frustrated she got the more she actually became edgy thus confirming what others had said of her, which in turn made her more frustrated and then, as a result, more edgy and so on and so forth for the whole month and the cycle was only broken when she decided to accept her edginess label and then "poof" it was gone and all that was left were the "Get Well Soon" cards and those hipster glasses she bought on a whim.
He brushed his teeth. They had never been cleaner and, as a result, he was planning on vastly expanding his use of pastes.
She spent the afternoon literally and figuratively herding cats and due to extreme exhaustion became confused about which was which.
He was up in the air about only one thing at a time. "Must learn to jump higher" he resolved.
She often perversely dreamed of being kidnapped by a small group of absolutely adorable little kids.
He wanted to take something, anything down from the inside, or failing that, to just stand outside, laughing at everyone who leaves.
She grasped the door knob and with baited breath and sweaty palms, slowly opened the door and cautiously entered the room. "Baby steps" she whispered to herself, combing her long, flaxen locks nervously with her finger tips. It was moments like this, where she wished she was shorter.
He was peeling apples while attempting to mentally solve quadratic equations and then he started to dance, or more accurately oscillate.
She was asked to "wrap it up" and couldn't decide whether she should obtusely misunderstand the direction with her unique blend of literalism and glamour or just quit this stupid job once and for all.
He awoke with a start and jumped out of bed, threw on some clothes and his running shoes, opened the door and sprinted into the darkness. He ran with reckless abandon. He ran with an insane look on his face. He ran wishing he could harness the wind to save money on electricity. He ran for the acceptance he would never achieve. He ran for freedom. He forgot his shorts again.
She was trying to settle on a new look for the fall and had narrowed it down to either tantalizingly serene or quaintly ravishing.
She was trying to settle on a new look for the fall and had narrowed it down to either tantalizingly serene or quaintly ravishing.
He went out of his way sometimes as frequently as three times a week. It was starting to become a problem.
She loved that moment she first lay her head on her fluffy pillow and the moment after that and the one after that. The next one not so much but the one after that was the best.
He sat in front of his easel and painted with exaggeratedly long brush strokes. Beautiful, yet slightly boring classical music was playing and he noticed a small, white bird on his windowsill. He was lost in his work and was at one with this poetic moment and then came the storm. Nothing was ever the same.
She took classes, read "how to" books, saw her life coach and used all the best moisturizers and creams all in an effort to return to form.
He was walking briskly on a trail when he came upon a family of squirrels (although he was mostly guessing at their relation to each other).
She was vacationing in Mexico mostly out of spite but also partially for the anticipated existential benefits.
He sat on the empty beach and contemplated the vast, cold universe of which he was nominally a member. He felt so small and meaningless. He longed to make an impact, to leave his mark, to give his all and, when time permitted, to reword these goals to sound less cliched. A duck swam buy, eyeing him comprehensively and then, when almost out of view, she "quacked" almost as if to say "fulfill your destiny" but more likely something with a stronger pro-duck agenda such as "stop ordering the duck". This meeting ended up being transformative; he knew what he had to do. He walked taller and left the beach with a new purpose and with something closely resembling a grin. He would return to the beach one day a changed man with the hope of repaying the duck.
She entered the kitchen to check on the delicious aroma of the blueberry pie that she had carefully spent the morning creating and was overjoyed that it was almost done. "God, I hate blueberry pie," she thought to herself.
They held hands for support, they hugged for the warmth and they snuggled on the couch together because absolute power does indeed corrupt absolutely.
He sat on the empty beach and contemplated the vast, cold universe of which he was nominally a member. He felt so small and meaningless. He longed to make an impact, to leave his mark, to give his all and, when time permitted, to reword these goals to sound less cliched. A duck swam buy, eyeing him comprehensively and then, when almost out of view, she "quacked" almost as if to say "fulfill your destiny" but more likely something with a stronger pro-duck agenda such as "stop ordering the duck". This meeting ended up being transformative; he knew what he had to do. He walked taller and left the beach with a new purpose and with something closely resembling a grin. He would return to the beach one day a changed man with the hope of repaying the duck.
She entered the kitchen to check on the delicious aroma of the blueberry pie that she had carefully spent the morning creating and was overjoyed that it was almost done. "God, I hate blueberry pie," she thought to herself.
They held hands for support, they hugged for the warmth and they snuggled on the couch together because absolute power does indeed corrupt absolutely.
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