My favorite room

I think it must be the greenroom in the east side of the house, where I can sit in a wicker chair and watch the sun rising. It is a room build fully by folly, because there shouldn't be big windows in east. It costs a fortune to keep the room warm, but warm it must be, because most of the plants are in there. (which is not too wise either) There's also a little fountain, stone floor and bird cages. I like birds...

Actually, I don't like birds. There's something very alien in birds. Something living dead. I suppose I would learn to see birds differently if I had birds of my own.

Ivan didn't want to let go off her. Even though it couldn't have been easy to drag her around, he held her tightly by her waist. She finally stopped and said: "I think it would be easier for both of us if you carried me", laughing. He stopped and picked her up to his arms. She was surprisingly light, as if she was created to be sitting on his arms.
The others went over the road, but Ivan turned and started hurrying to another direction.
"Where are you taking me, Ivan", asked the woman.
"I'm taking you home with me", he answered.
She nodded, as if the idea would have been quite ordinary.
After a while, the group leader noticed that Ivan and woman were missing from the group, looked around and saw them hurrying away. She yelled, and ran after them. Ivan didn't stop, didn't even slow down. They reached his door before the group leader reached them, Ivan put the woman down, picked his keys from his pocket, opened the door, lifted the woman over the doorstep and locked the door behind them. The group leader yelled and banged the door, but they didn't care.

January 12th is the "work harder" day. I'm an overachiever, and such ideas are not good for me. I have been fighting my "addiction" for some 15 years now, from when I realized that that was what I was doing. "Harder" just isn't good enough.
"Work harder day" must have been invented by some Christian Capitalist... American :->

Things to Make you Smile

A hangover is the wrath of grapes.

He who dies with the most toys is nonetheless DEAD.

A picture is worth a thousand words, but it uses up three Thousand times the memory.

Ham and eggs...a day's work for a chicken, a lifetime commitment for a pig.

Fibromyalgia forum discussion about the subject "work harder day"

Writers write... still :-D

I suppose it would be better to start practicing for 2010 NaNoWriMo in good time, so that I get in the practice of writing. 2000 words are not difficult to write, unless I don't have the habit of writing, unless I start listening to my inner nay-sayers... which is so easy thing to do.

I have the Writer's Book of Days by Judy Reeves. I know it's already 11th of January (BTW, a month til Olympics...)

I haven't written one word this year, not one "serious" word. I have, of course, been writing in different forums and twittering and short notes, and such, but that's not writing. I used to love essay writing in school, I sat down with the paper and pen and let the thoughts flow on the paper, and it was wonderful. I wrote, wrote and wrote, and loved every minute. I'm off habit now. I find it difficult to sit down and write, as if what I write must be good. Bah! I say. Bah, humbug! Let's write trash!

Femme Fatale by Joel T. Keener

Write the last line to an unwritten novel that's so intriguing that others won't help but want to read the book.

Their eyes met, and Kiltmintra smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile. It was sinister, wicked, full of promises of something bad, but he was charmed. For some reason he couldn't forget the smile nor the woman. He remembered reading somewhere about choosing the one bad thing one hasn't tried yet, and he thought that this woman might just be the one bad thing he should try. So he turned and went back to find her.
Kiltmintra was used to that reaction, so she had just sat down in the café, waiting for the man to come back. If he wouldn't, someone else would, and Kiltmintra was being bored. She wanted a new toy to play with.
"Hello, may I sit down?"
"Sure, I was waiting for you", she said, smiling. This time there was something disgustingly pleased in that smile. She knew exactly why he had come back, and she knew he knew, and even though he didn't like it, he couldn't help it.
"My name is..."
"Oh, no, don't spoil this!"
"Oh..." The man was confused.
"I don't want to know you. I just want to be with you."
"Oh..." That didn't help at all.
"You know, like animals. Just two strangers who meet and have fun for a while, then part and continue with their own journeys."
He looked still dumb.
"I like the anonymity. I have commitment issues. I don't want to be tied down by anything. I just want to live and enjoy life as it comes."
"I see..." he said, even though he didn't see. He wanted more. He had things that tied him down. He had work, apartment, things, family... this woman was weird.

You wake up one day with an unusual super power that seems pretty worthless—until you are caught in a situation that requires that specific "talent."

I'm different from everyone else. Or... I don't know. It is quite possible that others have the same ability I do. I can see the Otherworld creatures, you know, elves, gnomes, fairies... spirits. What ever you call them, I see them. I can see them as well as I can see you, except that they are distorted... like watching things through wrinkled glass or fun house mirrors. I suppose they see us the same way, and that's why they think we are weird.
I haven't heard anyone else being able to see them, but this isn't something one discusses with others. I don't ask my fellow human beings, if they see that house, or that tree, or that dog, or that person. Maybe I should. How would I otherwise know if those are real... I mean, real in the normal sort of reality...
Though I don't know if that exists either. Perhaps we all have our own reality, and what I call blue is red to someone else, and we just believe we are talking about the same things. Perhaps two eyes, one nose and one mouth means four eyes, no nose and two mouths to someone else. Perhaps others see people as aliens, but we just believe we see the same thing... Uh, I don't know.

The Hallway of Pasadena City Hall at night by Doug Santo

"The hallway was silent..."

Mirian peeped from the door. There was no-one there, and nothing could be heard, now, but just a minute ago, when she was listening through the door, it had sounded as if the hallway was full of whispering and tip-toeing.

Yeah... I could probably bind all three stories together and have another story.