99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer…
Well, they probably weren’t all beer, Robin thought, picking up a hammer. Still, they all violated Prohibition.
“Ready?” Robin asked his partner.
“Mind the glass,” John said, before laying waste to an entire row.
Robin grinned and joined him.
Guy had grown up loving America- how could he not love it, when grandfather had come over as a 48er (in a pickle barrel, no less). Guy had been born and raised in Minnesota, on a farm outside of New Ulm, and it had all been well and good…
Until war had broken out in a country he had never been. The only things Guy had known of Germany was…[Read more]
Robin was growing to hate this country. His resolve against alcohol melted as he instead fought against the corruption it left in it’s wake. He’d been shunted from coast to coast, trying to prevent the sale of alcohol…
Trying to prevent the further decay of this once great nation.
He’d rather be a gin drinker than a prohibition agent, now.
Coast to coast, Marion had wanted to see it all. She wanted to put her feet in the Atlantic, the Pacific. She wanted to eat lobster in Maine, try Chinese food in San Francisco.
looking at a brochure for the Great Northern Railways.
She put it away and went down to help her mother with the laundry.
With a growing sense of dread, I’m getting ready to leave work for class tonight, I completely forgot my snack (Junior Mints). At least I remembered dinner, I guess.
I’m just so burned out after this very stressful week that five hours of class are not going to be very easy for me.
Still, sleep tomorrow.
Claims to this job. I have one. I hope I get this job, so so badly. My current job is fine, but I really want the step up. And I can’t stand working with the woman upstairs any more. She’s terrible. I can’t pretend I don’t hate her for very much longer….
I think too much. And it makes me worry. I try and stop and then I’ll start thinking of other things. And I circle back. It’s not very good if I’m panicking about something.
Which I do. Often.
Sometimes I can logic myself out of a panic, but not often.
What a boring concept, when writing. I’m not interested in reading about people who are married, generally speaking. I just…. don’t really care. Unless it’s the final Betsy Tacy book.
I suppose tomorrow’s word will be wife. What a disappointment.
I hit a wall with St Paul Sinners, writing wise. And yet, I still think of it. A lot. I see an exit sign for Hastings and think how I can work it into the story. I see Landmark Center and think what a great setting it is.
Maybe if this keeps up, I’ll go back to it.
Computer systems. They annoy everyone when they go down.
Though sometimes, I find I don’t mind. Because then I can put some of my work on hold, walk around the library, and get up and move. It’s nice, I think, to have that.
Unless it’s busy, because urgh.
Violet eyes. She has violet eyes that simmer with hatred.
Does this author have any idea how ridiculous and crazy those features sound?
Violet eyes don’t exist. She can have blue eyes, brown eyes, or even green eyes.
But I draw the line at purple.
I would like to hold a baby for about 20 minutes a day. I don’t want one, at least right now, but I do like them. Calming a baby is a very calming experience for me, and I like when they’re smiling, or when they are sleepy.
So warm and cozy and smell so nice, and if they don’t, hand ’em back.
K-Dizzle is coming to visit me and I am delighted. We’re going to hang out, watch ALL THE DARCYS and generally have a rockin’ good time. We usually do.
Damn, I miss her so much. She brings so much light to my life.
But she’ll be here soon!!!
I miss joe cool. By which, I mean, I miss my brother. We don’t get along, and I can’t… I can’t seem to figure out how to fix us. He’s filled with so much rage and noise and…
He doesn’t listen to me. Every. My ideas, my perspective, does not matter to him.
Do I speak? Do I remain silent? You…. have turned into an absent friend. Not in the fact that you’ve left, but rather, that I can’t get you to respond.
So. Do I let us drift apart? Or do I speak to you about my qualms? Which action is correct?
There’s a word for you. See I take responsibility for my actions. But I know someone who doesn’t. Or won’t. And everything she wants in life gets handed to her. And I hate to say it, but just once, I want her to fail, just so she knows what it’s like.
She drives me nuts.