Personal

Just thought I'd get my weekly pictures out of the way As you can see, I've been doing a lot of driving lately. The autumn color is dying, but hanging on just a little longer. It'll probably be gone by next weekend.

Bit of a slow week. Had my first truly grueling day at the office - something like 45 patients that day. Which sounds alright, until you realize there's only one doctor at the clinic. I've more or less got it down now though, and I'll probably be doing all the check-ins myself soon enough.

I nearly picked up a second job at a call center, but ultimately couldn't do it. That shift starts at 5:00 - I'm supposed to get off work at 4:30, but I have to stay later on busier days. Both jobs are strict on timing; if one were flexible I could probably have managed it. It would have only been an extra $150 or so anyway, so I'm sticking with the job that pays more.

Speaking of work, it's going to be a short week for me - I'm off Thursday and Friday. Not a phone call or a Facebook message about our Thanksgiving plans yet. That probably means I should show up at grandma's house around 11:00. I know my family does the same thing every year, but it's still nice to hear confirmation.

Around dA

I've extended my Contest deadline to December 13th!

DailyLitRecognition really needs prose suggestions! Send them to me or one of the other admins of out lovely prose team please!

Holiday Card Project 2014

Lili's 27th Birthday Contest! - you still have some time!

Holiday Horrors--A Contest

theWrittenRevolution is throwing down the gauntlet: Groups Need More Respect - A Change In Rules

The Writer's Smile Project

Love Letter Contest

Features!

woodwork.so in his apartment there's all this warmness, right?
i mean it's crazy - it's like this;
basements with sepia toned photos of strangers who are both beautiful and strange
hot chocolate, the kind that burns your tongue, that tells my bones they're now made of wood.
and that's okay because his eyes only flicker when there's a lighter laying around
lately, outside this apartment of his, it's pretty chilly.
it's like sunsets though - like distance in miles;
willowy shadows stretched halfway across the streets of a place you don't know of
there are benches, hard ones that make laying down together weird, but i still smile anyways.
it's not too bad, he just needs a voice with him, or maybe even his dogs, that's all
i'll say,
"just turn that heater back on, please. coffee, coffee, coffee beans.
let my bones be hollow, in that harmonica kind of way,
i'll be able to fly in this sky easier, you know."
in his damn temperature confused apartment, it needs to make up it's mind.
we're both like hea The Afterlife For SuicidesIt's been three days since I committed suicide, or at least I think that it has been three days. Each ticking of the clock leaves me more and more confused as the seconds pass by. I've been stuck in the same room I died in, the messy, dark place where I have cried myself to sleep countless of times.
I have tried getting out of here, opening the door of my bedroom or even trying to break out of the window. However, anything I try to touch simply bounces my fingertips off of them. I would fling myself from wall to wall or even stomp on glass, but the objects would remain unaffected like they weren't there at all. I am left to drown in my confusion and thoughts.
To my surprise, I remember everything clearly. The brain I had when I was still living couldn't even process a single math problem even if my life depended on it, but now every detail of that day stood out in my mind. That day. It wasn't a special day, just another one of my usual routines. Music blasting through my headpho typwriter lines.we would stay up late
taking negatives of our
feet, laughing at the thought
of our toes being little pigs
and going to the local market.
we were wallflowers, but back then
we believed it meant we were flowers
growing high on the walls waiting for
our prince to climb up the flowered
brick and save us.
we read of bears eating hunny from yellow
pots, and piglets walking on two feet to
a rabbits garden, and the rabbit would
yell, and murmur things the piglet
couldn't understand. sometimes, i wonder
if we were little piglets not understanding
life.  or if we just grew up a little too fast.
killing girls instead of mockingbirdsand with car-crashes in her eyes and 
self harm on her hands with murder in her
bones and birds in her skull she'll look up at god
and ask him why she's not pretty Banana pancakes and the fluI'm thankful for long nights
and late mornings.
Those rainy Monday "sick days,"
where we lie in bed all morning
and talk in the
sign language
of our lips and tongues.
Banana pancakes,
couch cuddling
movie days
in last night's pajamas
and this morning's messy hair.
I want to grow old with you
and spend every Monday with the flu.
10.There lived a renowned fisherman. He always caught enough to feed his family, with plenty left over. Each morning he sailed far from the other boats; each evening he returned laden. Some suspected sorcery. Perhaps there was magic at work. The only thing the fisherman excelled at more than his trade was his hobby: every night, he spent lonely hours drawing; every morning, he threw his art into the sea. He drew only for himself—and, perhaps, the spirit of the ocean, if such exists. And if it does, perhaps it appreciated the gift, and offered its own in return. MetamorphoseCurled like a hermit crab
he inches through heartbreak
one pygmy shell at a time MollyI still don’t understand why my reflection kept begging me to let her out.
She didn't seem happier after I did and now all she does is liquefy in the bathtub