30, She/Her, a big bi nerd
How do I write a bio that doesn't look like a dating profile? Anyway, my cat is my daughter, I crochet and cross stitch, and I can't ride a bike. Come take a peek in my brain-space, please and thanks.
"What Do You Listen To?"
I don't usually talk about this. I've been insecure about my musical tastes. I thought that if someone was interested in my preferences, they must've had their own favorites pinned down for some time. If someone was asking me about music, they must have had extensive knowledge about their favorite bands and genres. If I said I liked the thing they like, I would be exposed as an air-head who doesn't care enough about things I claim to enjoy. I liked a lot of different things and knew very little about any of them.
Content Warning: Sexual themes, discussion of exploitation Skylar choked on his coffee and slammed the laptop shut. Nobody was around to look over his shoulder, but it was a reasonable response to what he'd just seen. There was, of course, the primal instinct to hide the porn when something unexpected appears. The weight of the potential shame is worth the risk of drawing attention with the frantic maneuver. Close on the heels of that instinct was a twinge of recognition swelling into a sickening sense of dread. That photo was definitely, absolutely, without a doubt, of his partner, Erin.
It's a game so ancient, everyone knows how to play. When teacher leaves the room, we take turns crawling under the tables. Two kids pull the tables apart and the "it" kid sticks their fingers up through the gap. Everyone holds their breath in anticipation. You pull your fingers out at the last possible moment before your friends slam the tables back together. Sometimes there's an "ouch", but there's always laughter. Except for that one time, when the tables slammed and there was a loud crunch, but, strangely, no "ouch." And nobody laughed.
- Runner-Up in Passing Ships Challenge
The Granola Bar FairyRunner-Up in Passing Ships Challenge
Shopping is hard for me, and it always has been. It's a little easier these days with the advent of e-commerce, but sometimes I still have to go to a brick-and-mortar store. I get overwhelmed: sensory overload, too many options, all the walking... No thank you. It was the same when I was a kid. My mom and sister could take their time shopping for clothes or school supplies. I just wanted to grab it and go, even on a good day. If I could find somewhere to sit or something to keep my interest while they did the shopping, that was ideal.
A Night Flight
Cass opened her eyes and glanced at her watch. She had only been asleep for about 20 minutes. Cass always had a hard time sleeping in-transit. Usually that was no problem. She enjoyed the experience of traveling and keeping one eye on the window as the sights came and went. On an airplane, there were fewer sights to be seen once up in the clouds, but the novelty of being aboard an aircraft usually kept her occupied. Sometimes, though, the travel times lined up poorly or some snafu or another wore Cass down. Frequent fliers are going to have the occasional trip from hell, and that's just a fact of life. Tonight, it would have been nice to use the two and a half hours to catch some "z"s.
Inside and Out
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. That's what I had to tell myself, sometimes aloud, every time I stopped to wash my hands and face or try to clean my teeth. Truth be told, it had been so long since I'd seen my own face looking back at me, I was starting to forget it. Time passed, likely weeks, and the gaunt visage in every reflective surface strained to convince me otherwise. It said, "Come on, what other face could you possibly have? It's you and me, like it always has been." I had to believe I had good reason to deny it the first time and continue to deny it. It was the only thing I "knew", and to lose it would mean losing myself to that... house.
Is this thing recording? Testing, one, two... Okay. Let's do this. Breathe in, and... Hey, my quadrupeds! The name's DJ Mittenz, Lil' Mittz for short. Though, I guess that's not that much shorter. Wait, shit. I write lyrics for Frisky's sake. I speak Human, I swear.
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. It was a visual lullaby that transfixed my violet eyes from my earliest days. The ladies having coffee with my mother in the living room would remark, "What a strange child it is, to be in the crib wide awake so late, night after night." Their words would not have turned my head even if I had heard them. To drink the sight of the midnight clouds was prerequisite to my dream-drowned slumber. Snatches of those early dreams still live in the back of my skull and sometimes brush against my memory. The colors, the textures, the vague shapes that occupy the dreams of infancy float subtly, casting dim shadows across my coherent, waking thoughts.
Her Bedroom Wall
If walls could talk, I would have shared in your parents' joy and excitement as they prepared your nursery. They spent hours just sitting on the floor of the empty room daydreaming about the possibilities. A beige carpet was laid down and I was painted lavender. The anticipation was great fun, but it was nothing compared to the joy of seeing your family together for the first time. I'm just a wall, but I shared in the feeling of responsibility that came over the house as it was cleaned, child-proofed and decorated for your arrival. I listened and I learned every one of your mother's lullabies. If walls could talk, I would have sang you a lullaby of my own about how I would protect you from the elements, from noise, from harm, and how happy I was with my duty.