It was an early morning melody, tapping the keys on my Sunday tractor. I was pulling heavy burdens through a slosh of snow and resentment. It was an early morning coffee, doused in cream and caramel. A good coffee doesn't taste like coffee at all. When the snowplows came around to my block, I was standing in the porch with my robe and my cup of morning-beverage. I was angry at that snowplow for existing. I was angry at the winter for hurting my face every time I exited my place. I poured my coffee-concoction out into the sink and rinsed my cup. "I need to start drinking healthier morning-beverages," I told myself, then went up to put on 9 layers of clothes so I could go out to start my truck. It was colder than a snowman's tit outside and all I wanted to do was curl up with a hot coffee-concoction and hide.
Πήρε την κιθάρα στα χέρια του και την κοίταξε με απορία. Κάποτε ήταν η προέκταση του χεριού του. Και των δύο. Τώρα δεν θέλει, κάνει πως δε θυμάται να παίξει. Κάθε νότα, κάθε συγχορδία του θυμίζουν μια κίνησή της. Πως ήταν δυνατόν να τους συνέβη αυτό; Ποιος είχε την καρδιά να τη βλάψει; Αν τον συναντούσε... μόνο αυτή την ερώτηση θα έκανε. Πώς; Πώς μπόρεσε να την κοιτάξει μέσα στα μάτια, αυτά τα υπέροχα μάτια, και να της κάνει κακό;
Living the Good Life is a personla chocie, based on our owen morals and values. What is good to one, is not necessarily good to another.
The purpose of this essay is to argue the concept that women want to be wanted, not loved from the individual levels. The essay will focus on what women want and desire as opposed to the expectations of women.
I know it is tempting to just give in. Fold up your blanket. Reel in your lure. But keep at it. Look at your family. Look at the people in magazines. What would your magazine people think of you if you suddenly decided to stop your subscription to living! Goodness. Get it together now, man. Trickle through your crevices. Pounce on your objectives. There is a room in hell for quitters. There is a room in heaven for those who persevere. The only difference between these rooms is one has better company. You see? Do you see where I am going with this? Do you see where I am driving this street cleaner? Write that book. Earn that degree. Create that website. Marry that woman. Nobody cares if you quit. But everyone will take heed of your God when you persevere. Do you think this is all I have in my pocket? I have more. I have more in my pocket than all the quitters' pockets put together. And, dammit, you can too. You can too.
I am so glad that 420 fables has upgraded. I have been registered since last winter, and I saw the announcement new version is coming 6/20, but it didn't change. I am thinking, oh, the developer must have been procrastinating as I did, then great, it finally comes today. I finished my graduate thesis with it. Sometimes I wrote something here, and then copy paste to my onenote. Hope this website will gets better and better, because I like the concept of writing with time limit. Since I've already done with school, I am using it as my daily reflection tool now!
I’m far less sure about important things as I used to be. It's just that everybody is specialized and pontificated. I’m designing the newest Noah’s Ark just to sneak away with my zoo society. I’m varnishing wood planks while brilliant pontificators are wooing me with impressive brain tricks. Contests are being lost all around me as I hurry along the mast with my hammer. Nails are tapped and shutters are attached. "This boat will sail!" Yet, I’m far less competent than I used to be. I read. I steal. I cheat. My faith is a storm cloud building up at sundown. The woman is knitting. The dog is chewing an imitation bone. I pound my hammer on the mast. I lean out over the side. It is rising to consume me and I am dashing for the tool box. I’m up to my ears in it and far less secure than I used to be.