Empty

I’m confused, since this is where I would usually put the subheading from The Daily Post, but it appears as if things have changed, and I haven’t adapted yet.

To my .534 fans out there: Hey! I’m back!

I was going to start out by saying how it’s been a while since I’ve blogged, but then I realized how many blog posts I’ve started in this same way and I had to stop myself. Blogging every day is hard… but here’s why I’m back:  Continue reading

Twenty-Five Seven

Good news — another hour has just been added to every 24-hour day (don’t ask us how. We have powers). How do you use those extra sixty minutes?

First of all, this would be a dream come true. I often like to imagine what my life would be like if I had one of those handy-dandy time-turners from Harry Potter, but alas, we are stuck in this monotonous and limiting twenty-four seven world.

Or rather, for the purposes of this blog post, a twenty-five seven world.  Continue reading

Handmade Tales

Automation has made it possible to produce so many objects — from bread to shoes — without the intervention of human hands (assuming that pressing a button doesn’t count). What things do you still prefer in their traditional, handmade version?

I am definitely too young to answer this question. Sure, I can claim I grew up in the 90’s, which means I know the good old days of not being completely glued to technology. I say claim because I really cannot remember much of my life before the year 2000. Point is, basically everything in my life is made from automation, except for that pillow I attempted to sew back in 7th grade. Trust me, I prefer the nice, much more rectangular pillows on my bed right now. 

I do like old things, though. If you read my post from a few days ago about a fictional character entering an antique shop, just picture the opposite of that girl and you’ve got me. Ok, maybe I’m a little materialistic too, but not quite that bad. As a kid, I used to find these antique shops in Connecticut while visiting with family, and I’d just want to explore them all day. I bought a tiny treasure chest here, a wade figurine there, but my most treasured antique was a little brooch; a painted metal four-leaf-clover on top of a golden wishbone. I had apparently stared at it so much the shop owner just went right ahead and gave it to me for free. Ah, to be young and have a face so cute you can convince anyone into giving you anything…  Continue reading

Sudden Shifts

You’re at the beach with some friends and/or family, enjoying the sun, nibbling on some watermelon. All of a sudden, within seconds, the weather shifts and hale starts descending form the sky. Write a post about what happens next.

The next post will be on time, I promise. Hey, I’ve been on vacation in the land of no internet; cut me some slack.

I never liked the beach. Being a busybody, the idea of driving more than twenty miles to sit and do nothing does not appeal to me at all. Swimming isn’t exactly an option either; I may have swum varsity for five years in middle school and high school, but you will not see me willingly swimming in the ocean. Once, I was at the beach on a family vacation, sitting on a towel people-watching, when all of a sudden, two things happen at once: I see a tiny Asian woman standing up to her knees in the water, grabbing jellyfish by the heads, decapitating them with a practiced shake, and dumping the heads in a bucket, while at the same time, a large, burly man, covered in tattoos and muscles starts taking off toward his motorcycle screaming like a ten-year-old girl, shrieking that he had just been stung by one of the jellyfish. True story.

Not so true story: 

The day at the beach was glorious in all ways but one. The sun was shining, the waves rolled in in a soothing rhythm, and there were laughing children running absolutely everywhere. Even the watermelon tasted better than usual. All this, and I still don’t like beaches. The boys were splashing in the water, my little brother shouting when he thought he saw a jellyfish. My mother and I lay in the sun, burning to a crisp under our beach novels. I had my murder mystery, and she had her romance. Typical.  Continue reading