The New Best Friend

I chose the "nefarious playmate" from Master Class Monday over at Our Write Side.
This one is longer (much) than my norm. 


Barbie was sick of it. 

“Hey, Hot Pockets! Can I git another hot kiss here?” The guffaws from the rest of the old men at the table finally pushed her over the edge.

She pasted a simpering smile on her face, grabbed the coffee pot, and sashayed to the table. “Sure you can, Joe.” She whispered next to his ear as she poured the contents into his lap.

Joe’s screams and the hollering of his cronies summoned Harley, the manager, into the dining room at the same time Barbie slammed the pot on the table. As glass shards flew into the midst of the men she untied her apron. It dropped to the floor scattering quarters and dollar bills underfoot. Before Harley could open his mouth she shoved her fist into it.

She took time to smile at the group before saying, “I quit!” as she flipped the bird at the now speechless men; excluding Joe who was still bawling in pain. Then she calmly walked out the front door.

She walked the three blocks to her  walk-up apartment unlocking the door just as an ambulance sped back toward the diner. Her roommate, Christie was sprawled on the stained couch eating chips. Looking up as Barbie slammed the door  she quickly wiped the greasy salt on the arm and sat upright. 

“You're home early.”

Barbie checked the opposite end of the couch for crumbs and bugs before she threw herself down. “Yeah. I am.”

Christie settled back with another handful of chips, “Dirty old man disrespect you again?”

“Yep.”

“Did you tell him to knock it off?”

“Sorta.”

“So, your grease ball of a boss fire you?” Christie asked.

Barbie snorted, “I quit.”

“You quit? How you gonna pay your share of the rent?” Christie sat up again spilling chips on the filthy rug.

“My share? How about you get off your lazy ass and pay the rent for a change.” Barbie cast a scathing look at Christie. “Seems I’ve been paying more than my share for quite a while.”

Christie frowned, “you know I been lookin’!”

Well I know where you can get a waitress job today.” Barbie jumped from the couch and headed to the kitchenette. As she expected the cupboards were empty. “Thought you were going to the store today,” she yelled into the other room.

“Yeah, I am, but I need more cash than the ten I got.” Christie poked her head cautiously through the doorway. “You make good tips today?”

“Don’t know, I left them behind.” She settled for a warm can of soda and returned to her corner of the couch. “If anybody knocks don’t answer the door.”

“What?” Christie looked at the door then back to her roomie. “Who are you expecting?”

“Cops”

“Aw, shit, girl, what did you do?” Christie crossed to the door and peeked out the front window. The street in front of the walk-up was empty, for the moment.

“I mighta poured coffee on ol’ Joe’s hardware.” She grinned humorlessly as Christie’s eyes widened.

“Oh, lord.” After another peek out the window, Christie turned back to Barbie. “He was a good tipper, you sure it was worth it?”

Barbie replayed the multitude of sexually inappropriate remarks Joe had spewed regarding her butt and boobs over the past four months. Each time he spoke his fan club of wannabe perverts laughed at her blushes and stammered appeals to him to please stop. Her eyes narrowed as she answered Christie, “It damn sure was.”

The young women stared at each other for several minutes before bursting in fits of giggles. 

Christie grabbed Barbie’s soda and took a long gulp before clapping her on the back, “I’ll bet he hollered, wish I’d been there to see it.”

“He didn’t just holler, he screamed like a, a girl!” Barbie swiped the laughter induced tears from her eyes and yanked the drink can back and drained it in one swallow. 

Catching their breath after the fit of glee was over, they sat silently. Barbie knew getting another job would be tough, it had taken forever to find the one she’d just left. She knew Christie really had been looking, but the Podunk town they lived in didn’t have much to offer. And after her own stunt, it was unlikely any of the locals would hire her.

Christie considered going to the diner next morning and filling out an application, but the minute she wrote her address down, she was sure it would end up round-filed. 

“Maybe we oughta just leave this shit hole behind and go somewhere new,” Christie suggested.

Barbie rolled her eyes, “Like where?”

As Christie shrugged a rap on the door made both girls jump. “Shh, don’t answer!” Barbie whispered frantically.

Christie nodded as she sidled to the window and carefully peeked out. “It’s that grill cook from the diner!” she told Barbie quietly.

Barbie’s face screwed into a snarl, “That loser? What does he want?”

Christie cracked the door open, “What d’ya want?”  she asked the lanky boy on the steps.

“To see if Barbie is alright.” He craned his neck to look past Christie and seeing Barbie he waved and said, “Nice work back there! They hauled that old fart out on stretcher, he was still holdin’ his balls and cryin’ like a baby.”

Barbie joined Christie at the doorway, “Yeah, I'm fine, they really  called an ambulance? Hey, you  didn’t bring the cops, did you?”

“No, just me.”

Christie opened the door wider and let him in, “Well get in here before they show up.”

“They ain’t goin' to. I told 'em Joe was playin' grab ass and the coffee got spilt accidental. And then Barbie ran off embarrassed.” He grinned and told Barbie, “Those two old ladies that you hate was in there, they backed me up.”

“Why’d  they do that?” Barbie figured the old hags disliked her as much as she did them. 

“'Cause they don’t like Joe more than they don’t like you I guess.”

“Huh. Well, hey, thanks.” 

The three stood awkwardly looking at each other. Finally the boy said, “I’m Luke by the way, don’t know if you knew my name or not. You gotta beer or pop?”

“Uh, yeah, I knew your name, and we don’t have anything to drink, we just finished the last soda.” 

“Oh. Then let’s go get some! My truck’s down there, we’ll get a six pack or two and go celebrate.” 

Barbie noticed when he grinned he was better looking than she remembered. While Christie tried to think of an excuse to refuse Barbie smile at Luke, “Okay, let’s go!”

Soon the three were driving around on gravel roads outside the small town. Halfway through the case of brew they had decided on Luke made a suggestion. “I got keys to the diner, we can go raid the cooler…and maybe the till.” 

Christie yanked her gaze away from the scenery outside the passenger window, “Oh that sounds like a very bad idea…”

“I think it sounds great!” Barbie slurred. “Serve that scuz Harley right! I tol’ him Joe was a pervert and he never did nothin' ‘ bout it.”

“Yeah I know, and you know what else? I know where Joe lives. An’ he’s got money at his place too. He owes you girl!”

Barbie leaned into Luke’s shoulder, “Yeah, he does. He owes me.” 

Christy looked at the pair, “You guys are wasted, and crazy! Barbie, you didn’t want cops and this sure sounds like a good way to attract them. Let’s just go back home and watch TV, OK?”

Luke shot Christie a curious glance, “you wanna go home, fine. We’ll drop you off.”

Christy nodded, maybe she could talk them into the apartment once they got there. 

She let herself in as the truck’s tires squealed off carrying Barbie and her new nefarious playmate into the night. She hadn’t been able to convince them to give up on Luke’s plan. Christy curled into the corner of couch and waited for Barbie to come back.

A shove on her shoulder prodded her from sleep. Still on the couch she looked up expecting her roommate to be frantic about breaking into the diner. Instead Barbie and Luke were grinning at her. In the dim light she could see Barbie swaying,, a beer clutched in her hand. As her sight focused she could see both were covered in spatters of red. 

Luke swung the hammer nonchalantly, “You shoulda come with us. It was awesome.”

Seven Reasons Not to Camp Alone

My offbeat offering for  Coldy Calculating at Our Write Side where the Prompt was The Seven Dwarves.



What the hell happened? One minute I was peacefully relaxing in front of the campfire. Listening to the cicadas and tree frogs singing, entranced by the embers of the fire, lazy flames licking the remains of the logs I'd laid hours ago.

This little man meandered into view. Green shirt, yellow breeches, and the goofiest hat I'd ever seen. He introduce himself as Doc. He made himself comfortable, warming his chubby hands at my fire. Asked what I was doing out there all by myself.

I told him I wasn't by myself, my boyfriend would be back shortly. I may have lied. Even though I was pretty sure I could take him, I didn't think it wise to let him know I was alone.

He smiled knowingly. I felt a prick on my neck and poof, I woke up chained to a wall. 

I wondered how the little fella got me here all by himself, until I met the rest of the gang. His six cohorts were dressed just like him. Green and yellow, and goofy hats. They even looked alike, bulbous noses, squinty eyes, and greasy smiles.

I didn't meet them all at once. And it took me some time to tell them apart. They seemed to take turns checking up on me. Bringing food and water. Or emptying the chamber pot they provided. They even gave me a brush and brought a damp cloth to wash with daily. 

There was Happy, though Renfield might have been a better name, he giggled hysterically when I said anything, particularly if I asked him to let me go. So much for that.

Then Grouchy, what an understatement. He looked like he was just waiting for an excuse to beat the shit outta me. I chose not to test that theory.

The one that called himself Bashful was anything but. He had zero shyness with the hands. Constantly petting my hair, or touching my face. Made me shudder. Yuck.

I think Sneezy was worse though. Continually snotting and dripping all over. I didn't know what kind of plague he had, but I didn't want it. If he brought the food, I wouldn't eat it.

And Dopey, yeah. No explanation needed.

Sleepy, I couldn't figure out. He'd shuffled in, check my restraints. Yawn. Ask if I was thirsty. Yawn. No, he wouldn't let me go. Yawn. He head for the door, stretch and before he could muster up the energy to open it, drop to floor and catch a twenty minute nap. Not weird at all.


Today they haven't been here to bring food yet. I'm not sure if that's a good thing. The chains are still intact, and starving or dehydrating to death doesn't appeal to me. Also the pot is starting to stink.  

Uh oh. I hear them, all of them. This cannot bode well.

Doc is the first one in the door. He's got a hypodermic. Not good. Not good at all. The rest are piling in behind him. Sleepy comes over and undoes the chains from the wall, Grouchy and Bashful grab my arms. Doc says if I cooperate he won't need to dope me. Sure, no problem, I can behave.

They're walking me through the woods now. I don't know where we're going, but I bet letting me go is not the plan. 

What is that? The sunlight is glinting off something up ahead. 

As we get closer I can see a dozen or so glass boxes. 

Closer yet, I can see each box has a girl inside.

Oh hell no!

As I start to struggle, Happy starts his creepy high pitched giggling. Sleepy curls up snoring nearby as Dopey lights a joint. Sneezy has progressed to puking in the grass.

Grouchy is ready to clock me, and Bashful starts to rub my back. Yuck.

They drag me to the one empty box. Doc grins, and sticks the needle in my upper arm. 

I feel the drug working. As the lid comes down, I scream with the last of my energy.

"Someday! You wait! Someday my prince will come!"

Utopia

Writing Prompt: Week 22
I've been away from this place for a long time.  Missed it.  A lot.  I took my inspiration from the picture, and of course, I twisted it to my personal bent for the bizarre.

                                       Image courtesy of Unsplash




The swing creaked in mock protest as she eased her slight frame into the cushions.  The soft breeze of a late summer's afternoon tickled the collection of wind chimes hung around the edges of the porch roof.

Contentment painted her face as she listened to the gentle wind-song.  Another day's chores completed.  Her garden weeded, and watered from rain barrels.  The first of the season's berries picked, cleaned, canned.  Herbs, both domesticated and wild, carefully picked and hung to dry.  

Her man had found a few stray chickens and goats on his last outing.  Their farmsteads deserted, just like her neighbors' homes.  Nature was quickly reclaiming the abandoned backyards, tough grasses were already breaking up asphalt streets.  

The community park down the road now hosted a bee tree, a thing that would have been discouraged if children still played there.  She'd already begun to plan a raid for the honey.  

They'd been lucky, the plague had missed them...  The small town that used to exist around them hadn't been of interest to the inevitable looters and gangs of displaced teens with no idea how to fend for themselves.  Those not killed by sickness moved on to easier pickings.

It was hard at first, no electric, no running water.  No Internet search to answer the many questions.  But, they'd stuck it out, relying on the few books they could find.   Learning by doing, trial and error, and half forgotten stories of grandparents.  

The swing moved lazily, her eyes drooped with the early evening heat. The gentle music of the chimes lulling her to sleep.

A raucous whoop and the unmistakable sound of a gas engine jolted her out of her comfort.  A smooth, easy reach brought the shotgun to her lap.

"Woman!  Looky what I found!  An' guess what?  It ain't that far to a real town, we can move to a place where they got water an' at least part time 'lectricity!  We ain't gotta live like this no more." He turned to reach into the pack of the two-wheeler.

While his back was turned, she aimed for the body.  She fired without hesitation.

"Damn," she muttered, "gotta find another'n."




.

Working Girl

Write at the Merge, Week 12
The Prompt: Speaking of legs… we’re offering you a photo and a song this week. Happy writing!

I chose the photo, and had a hard time coming up with something.  As usual, I found the weird.  Actually with help from the husband.  Sometimes I wonder about him....

Terry swaggered up the street.  She was late getting started this evening, she had to have an extra snort of powder to steel herself for another night of reading the johns.  Her goal was surviving until morning.  Too many girls had gone missing over the past month.  

She rounded the corner, making her way to her favorite post, a street light in the center of the block.  It would be a long night, traffic was unusually light.  

As Terry neared the light pole, she slowed her stride. Someone else was under the light.  It was a woman, her back turned to Terry, long legs in fish net stockings, perched atop impossibly high stiletto heels.  The woman's body hugging shift grazed her knees. 

"Not gonna get the homies that way," Terry muttered to herself.  To the figure ahead she shouted, "Hey! Bitch!  That's my track!"

She picked up her pace, "Imma kick your ass, bitch, get off my..."  The figure turned, arms opened wide.  Terry tried to stop her momentum as she saw the glowing red eyes, the only feature in the space that should have been a face.

Happily Ever After Part 1

Trifecta: Week Sixty-six

I'm trying something a little...well, crazy here this week.  I have been writing and linking up to several prompts every week.  I've combined prompts and I've written separate stories to the individual prompts.  This week my goal is to write one story, and split it into parts.  Each part fitting one of the prompts I use.  It's my hope that each part stands alone, yet makes one understandable tale all together.
So?  Here goes nothin"!


Congrats to all of our winners.  Check them out if you haven't already.  And give some love to our Featured Trifectans this week, your mug may be up there next.  On to the weekly challenge.

DOCTOR (noun)

1

a : an eminent theologian declared a sound expounder of doctrine by the Roman Catholic Church —called also doctor of the church

b : a learned or authoritative teacher

c : a person who has earned one of the highest academic degrees (as a PhD) conferred by a university

d : a person awarded an honorary doctorate (as an LLD or Litt D) by a college or university

2

a : a person skilled or specializing in healing arts; especially :one (as a physician, dentist, or veterinarian) who holds an advanced degree and is licensed to practice

b : medicine man

3

a : material added (as to food) to produce a desired effect

b : a blade (as of metal) for spreading a coating or scraping a surface

Please remember:

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.

• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.

• The word itself needs to be included in your response.

• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above. 

• Only one entry per writer.
• Trifecta is open to everyone.  Please join us.

This week's challenge is community-judged.

• For the 12 hours following the close of the challenge, voting will be enabled on links.  
• In order to vote, return to this post where stars will appear next to each link.  To vote, simply click the star that corresponds with your favorite post.
• You can vote for your top three favorite posts.
• Voting is open to everyone. Encourage your friends to vote for you, if you wish, but please don't tell them to vote on a number.  The numbering of the posts changes regularly, as authors have the ability to delete their own links at any time.
• You have 12 hours to vote.  It's not much time, so be diligent! We'll send out reminders on Twitter and Facebook.

This week's word is doctor.  

Meeribel was a shepherds daughter in the farthest reaches of the Realm of Windmore. Her father was widowed and poor, unable to raise a young girl. So, he bartered his daughter to the local herbwife for a breeding ewe.

"Ye'll larn 'ow ta be a fine ly-day 'ere," he said as he led his prize ewe away. 

Meeribel smiled shyly at her new "grandmother".  

The old woman's eyes narrowed, "Dun be asmilin' at me, ye sassy git!  I give me bes' lambie maker away fer a pair o' workin' arms.  Start workin'!"  

Meeribel's smile faded to confusion. "Is that 'ow I'll learn ta be a ly-day, Grandmother?"

"I ain't yer granny!  An' if ye wants ta be a ly-day, afta ye finish tha chores here, get up to Witch Willin's.  If'n ye dust an' sweep her porch, mayhap she'll learn ye ta be a high ly-day." She nearly doubled over with screechy laughter.

So, Meeribel began a life of servitude to a crotchety old herbwife and an equally crotchety old witch.
She did learn to speak and act like a lady.  

She also learned the use of herbs from the herbwife. And the use of spells from Witch Willin.

Which came in handy when Arlord, Prince of the Realm, wandered into the farthest reaches of Windmore in search of a wife.  

She stole the correct herbs from the herbwife.  She ripped a page from the spellbook of Witch Willin. Then she spent an entire night concocting the perfect potion.

The morning of Prince Arlord's wifeless departure, she used the potion to doctor a cup of tea for his highness.  
She smiled shyly as she offered him a farewell drink for his journey.  Sighing, Arlord accepted the brew. One more more common girl trying to catch his attention. 

******

Meeribel waved gaily at the herbwife and Witch Willin as she left the farthest reaches of Windmore.  She leaned into Arlord's embrace as she congratulated herself on her brilliance.

The Boy

Week #4

This week's book is the  Margret Atwood’s classic, The Handmaid’s Tale, whose opening sentence is:

We slept in what had once been the gymnasium.

here is my offering;




We slept in what had once been the gymnasium. I'm sixteen now, so me and Gram and some of the men is on roundup.  Roundup is where we go out to the old, hardpack trails and find other peoples looking for a safe place to stay.  Cause most places isn't safe. That's why the fedment wants everyone to live in partments under they law.

But it got night so we stayed in the gymnasium.  That's what Gram called it.  She said it was a part of schoolclass where kiddos practiced sportplay.

I never had school. They stopped when I was two. Gram said a lot of things stopped when the sick came.  Gram said a lot of peoples died.  Like my dad, and big sis.  I don't remember them.

Gram is got a freespace. Fams get they own househome to live in and a little dirt to grow veges and berrifruit. Some fams share they dirt to grow beefs and porkers for food. And some grow different kinds a woolies to get they hair for making wear and covers. And we use they milks for soapbars.

Mama says they used to be mallmarkets to get all that stuff for money.  I don't understand what she means.  We trade things we make good for things other people make good.  I seen money, but it doesn't look like it's good for anything.

Gram shows new people stuff they can learn to make so they can trade for what they don't.  Sometimes partment people sneak out to trade stuff the fedment give 'em for freemade stuff. They say our foods is better tasted than what they get.

They bring tronics and metals and meds to trade. We dont make many meds. We use herbleafs. But sometimes that's not enough.

Metals get made into pretties or tools. We use the tronics to hear netspeak. That's how we know its time for roundup.   

Peoples get on the freenet and say they going to find space and what way they is going. The bad part is bandies listen too. Sometimes on roundup we find peoples robbed and dead. Sometimes we help peoples get away.

The peoples that lived will come to Gram's freespace or keep on to find they own.  We hope they get luck.  Some just go to the partments so they don't have to work dirt. 

Working dirt is hard, but I get all I need from it.  Gram showed me growing and puttinup.  And I can make my own wears and covers from woolie hair. I can cut it off the woolies and spin it. Then I can weave and knit for pieces of wear.

Sometimes I trade my makes for tools to make dirt work easy. Sometimes I trade for pretties.  Mama trades for books if she can find 'em.  She tries to show me how to see the words. Its hard, but I can know some of 'em. 

She says I need to know more so I remember how to make stuff. And learn to make new stuff. So I try hard as I can.  I seen pics of stuff I want to know how to make. Mama has lots of pics. Sometimes they make her cry. She won't say why.

One of the fams here has a girl kiddo I like. She makes pretties and she makes good wears. She can know a lot more words than me too. She helps me know some. 

I hope when I get my own househome and dirt she will like to work it with me. 

No. Regrets.

The water is bearably hot, to offset the inevitable chill.  Fingers swirl the water.  Making pretty pink designs upon the surface.

Disjointed thoughts drift upward on the rising steam as a contented smile plays on slackening lips.  Chances missed, opportunities ignored, mistakes made, apologies unspoken.

No regrets.

Leaning into the warmed porcelain embrace.  Snuggling deeper into the warmth.  Twin rivers of red flowing not so slowly into the relaxing bath.

A random thought skitters by.  Which will win the cosmic coin toss?  The emptying of the shell?  Or the waters waiting for a slip beneath the surface?

Whatever....

No regrets.



My 100 words for Debonair.   (And just for the record, I'm not suicidal, I just go where the muse takes me.) 

Downtime

     The room was comfortably cool. The walls colored in shades of peacock blue. Three of four lined with shelves from dark wooden floor almost to the eggshell ceiling. A lacy candelabra adding more to the decor than lighting.

     The fourth wall rose over a long oaken desk, just inside the door, filled with electronic paraphernalia. The industrious hum of hard drive was punctuated with bursts of cooling fan.

     Scattered dots of LED lights winked in blues, reds, and greens as the equipment attended its various tasks. Searching for specific words and phrases across the World Wide Web. Bookmarking and flagging those that matched the criteria set for it.

     From the fog gray suede of her chair, Anne Marie MacClarren looked up from her reading. She breathed in the scent of the space. The musk of old paper spiced with a variety of inks, that was subtly interlaced with the ozone of electronic exhalation.

     She scanned the rows of scrolls carefully sealed in protective tubes, and old leather-bound books. All well worn yet meticulously maintained. She'd spent countless years finding them, acquiring them, translating them, studying them.

     In recent times, countless hours copying the contents to drive, file, and disk. She'd compiled a searchable database from hundreds of years of study and discovery. Now, compacted into silver platters of ones and zeroes.

     She leaned back into the cushions, her eyes drawn back to the book in her lap. She chuckled to herself as she indulged in the once forbidden joy of reading for pleasure. Title page:  "Fifty Shades of Grey"....






the prompt: You have 450 words to write a fiction or creative non-fiction piece about the forbidden or the taboo.

Each Alone

I couldn't just leave Mary and Duke hanging.     




     Mary dragged herself toward the front door.  It had been an exhausting day, all she wanted was a hot shower and her bed.  She needed to rinse away the odor of barely concealed decay that permeated the funeral home.  Then she needed to be unconcious.

    She reached for the doorknob. Mary gazed at the door of the house where they'd spent so much time together.  On the other side of that door was loneliness.
 
    Then she saw the dog. Duke still stood watch at the front window, waiting.  He glanced at her momentarily, then looked around and beyond.  He was always John's dog, her only interaction with him had been keeping him off the furniture.

     Finally, closing her eyes, Mary opened the door and stepped into the empty house. Duke wagged his tail briefly, acknowledging her entrance, his eyes still focused outside. Mary sighed and shuffled toward the living room.

     She wavered a moment, lost in her own home. There was no routine for this new chapter of her life. She sat, back rigid, on the edge of the sofa, still clutching her purse. Her memories of John drifted on the tears puddling behind her lashes.

     Mary hadn't seen Duke come into the room. He whined softly as he sat in front of her.  She supposed he was hungry, or needed to go out.  She laid aside her purse and forced herself to her feet.

    In the kitchen she found Duke's dry water dish.  The sound of the water filling the bowl echoed in the dark kitchen. She set the dish in front of the dog, then returned to the edge of the sofa.  Without the purse, her hands clutched themselves.

    Duke stood in front of her again.  Mary drew a breath, she wasn't ready to deal with his needs.  She looked away, he leaned into her legs with sigh.  Her drawn breath released a flood of loss and frustration.  The tears broke through her exhaustion.

    She felt warmth against her shoulder, could smell a lingering hint of John's aftershave in the heavy fur.  Duke sat beside her on the forbidden sofa, his eyes focused on hers.  Mary wrapped her arms around the dog and cried her pain into his neck.  He sat quietly beside her until she could cry no more.

     Mary, too tired to move, fell asleep, curled into the corner of the sofa. Duke cast one final look at the front door, then drifted to sleep beside her.



I linked up with a Story Dam prompt: Write fiction or non-fiction, tell us what lies on the other side of the door.

I Had It a Minute Ago!

The alarm rings at 3am.  I hit the snooze, once, and again.  Just a little more time.  Where did I put it?  

Then it's off to work.  Book work to be done.  Prep work to do.  A delivery needs to be put away.  Need to stock the condiment tubs.  Have pots and such to push through the dishwasher.  In between breakfast orders, that is.  Where did the time go?  I had it a minute ago.

I need to start the lunch specials.  And write checks for the vendors.  Oh, and it's payday, need to run the payroll.  Call in the tax payments, and check the temperature on the cooler, it has been misbehaving.  I don't have enough time for this, I lost some minutes somewhere.

Oh no, already 1pm.  A few errands to run.  Make the bank deposit.  Get gas for the car before the price sky rockets.  Go to the grocery store, working around food all day makes me forget there isn't any at home.  And don't forget to drop the payment for the bakery in the mail.  Running short on time, I misplaced it again.

Home at last!  Put the groceries away.  Is it really 3:00 already?  Sort the laundry for the husband, he does the laundry, bless him.  Now check emails and twitter and Facebook and the status of numerous games.  And the dog wants to go out.  Give me some time, I can't find mine.

The cats are whining.  It must be 5:00, they get their canned food now.  And they know it.  Need more coffee anyway.  Not really, but it sounds awesome.  Then maybe I will find time to relax. Under the chair cushion, maybe.

Writing prompts are waiting.  It's 6:15, better get on that.  Better figure out what to write about.  I've lost time again.

Wow, this is awful.  Maybe I could put together a real story, if I could just find where I put the time.

(And I still need to find time to read the half dozen books waiting on my Kindle app.)

Misplacing things is frustrating. We know we put it where will remember it. We always seem to need it when it’s not where we remember putting it. WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN? Let’s write about it!