i walked up to my agenda and it said it was valentines day. i was so stessed because i did not get anything for my class. i am going to bge the only person without a valentinetines day gift, i said to my self. uggg
The agenda sat on the President’s desk. He didn’t want to look at it. Not today. No more minutes, notes, bullet points. Time to leave. Get out of here and go to the beach. Some things are more important than an agenda — living life as it comes. This is not something he did very much lately, and it was killing him. Burning him out. Not the person he once was.
He definitely had his own agenda. He strode into the conference, confidently ignoring everyone around him. He knew what needed to be done, and that he was the only one who could do it.
Agenda is really a word of the century. Make it about 25 Jan and it will make all sense. It is really important aspect in succeed in your life. No really .. I mean it!
Where was it? She looked everywere, the damn thing was missingHenry? Dear? Did you pick up mommy agenda? Baby?
She up the stairs, donw to the haway and in the little bedroom was it. Her prince, four years old, on the floor. With a red crayon and her agenda. Henry dear? This is mommy agenda? And then he up the head whit a little smile.
him in that sleek gray suit with his rings clinking on cocktails speaking of all the other unspeakable things new money does in a way that makes him want to pull him down through the rungs and see the bright blue billiard chalk dusty in the ridges of his fingerprint, to lock eyes as the eight ball sinks into the corner pocket, to hate the bastard and win the game.
Its always important to have an agenda for any meeting. if a meeting request doesn’t have an agenda then its not worth attending. you should also have an agenda for your personal life…which ultimately form your life…but then when you are doing this agenda write it in pencil. I like it when I have an agenda
Agendas are constricting. Worrying about if you’re covering everything you can from minute to minute, the way it takes away opportunities throughout the day. I hate to be limited. It takes away from the wonder of enjoying the little things. Makes the person adhering to the schedule jump out of the creative mindset and into being an “adult”.
She was always on the move. She had to do this, and do that, and what not. You wondered what happened to the days when you both sat around and simply talked. However, she had an agenda and a plan, and all you had was an extra cup of cold tea. You want her to achieve her goals, and she never looked back.
It was always on the list.
But as if anyone was told *anything*… True reasons behind all. Ambiguous, shadowed purpose. ‘Cause there is always the invisible goalpost.
Someone always has an agenda. Except for me. Am I the only person in the world who goes to a meeting without some sort of ulterior motive? I mean, come on! Not everyone in the world is out to get something, or get somewhere. Not everyone has an “agenda”. At least I hope not. I really don’t want to be the only one!
They were stuck in that cold room, sitting on that hard ass chair. Have writer’s block was hell as it was, but they didn’t think it was this bad.
“It’s only a word god dammit,”
I stare down at the blank notebook. Is this it? I think to myself, is this all they’re going to give me? This stupid blank notebook?
When I’d transformed into a lesbian I was sure I’d be able to learn the true meaning of the gay agenda, but this was not what I had in mind.
Κάθε μέρα δίπλα μου έχω την ατζέντα μου. Θα την ενημερώσω, θα την συμβουλευτώ, θα την διορθώσω. Είναι ο οδηγός μου. Τι θα κάνω σήμερα, πότε θα το κάνω. Είναι το μέρος που θα οργανώσω τις σκέψεις μου.
harsh. structured. purposeful. an employee at the front of the room. speaking loud. trying to make an impression. glances down at a paper in her hands. glances up. realizes she doesn’t support what the words in her hands hands are saying. she actually wants no part of it. it isn’t her plan. it’s someone else’s. what’s the point of giving up so much of yourself for someone else’s agenda. she drops the paper. it floats away into oblivion.
Agendas. She had tons of them, all on pages printed on word document’s sitting in a wire basket on her desk. Each one longer than the last. Each one never accomplished. Easier said than done.
Clutching a pale blue agenda she had found resting on their borrowed desk, Penelope let out a lingering sigh, arm thrown around Susannah’s delicate shoulders. Rubbing the redhead’s arms gently, she managed a small smile, turning her attention to the somber-eyed, brunette anchorwoman.
My worries sdrive my agenda.
Always adding more and more.
There is never a end.
always the stress of what I am missing.
Lists will do me in someday.
A death of my planner.
Russell began to suspect that the captain was working to his own agenda. There had been a rash of arrests in the past few weeks that he had no choice but to throw out as unprosecutable due to lack of evidence. The fact that they all came from the same neighbourhood as the captain was a red flag.
“So, what’s the real agenda, then?” asked Grandma. “Conversion? Witchcraft?”
“Gram!” I knew she was joking, but it had taken her quite some time to accept the fact that I was gay. As a prank, I had given her a book entitled, “The Gay Agenda,” only to have it merely be a book on how to function as a proper human being. We had fun.
a list of items to be discussed during a meeting. Helps to pace the discussions and to schedule tasks. For future followups. Usually tabled in meeting minutes.
The sweet tang of jam invaded my tastebuds with its beauty. I felt the soft crunch of fresh and warm toast filling my mouth with perfection. Just two more days of sitting on the plush sofa and filing paperwork while eating jam on toast. This was the same agenda that I did every day for the past week. Just two more days until all of this was over and I had to go back to Connecticut.
My mind was slowly fuzzing away at the thought of all the work I had to complete. If I didn’t follow the perfect agenda I had set for myself this morning, I would most likely lose my job. I took another sip of the double shot expresso I had next to me and my mind began to buzz like I had an electric shock.
He wasn’t an attractive man, despite all of the finery he clothed himself in: a thousand dollar pair of Italian leather shoes, several rings of varying worth, each topped with a precious stone or other, a thousand dollar suit…. He was fat and unattractive and looked a little too much like a fish. Or perhaps a great white shark, which was still a fish. His grin was wicked and sharp, each pointed fang hiding an agenda that frightened and intrigued her.
rich in heart and soul
and diamonds,
hidden caskets
carved in your eyes
crash wide open
and they knock faithfully on your cellar door
asking for receipts, a number to prove you are real
just let them check the dirt under your nails,
harbored soul
are you the one who dug that jewel?
you kneel whisper
pray to be predator to feed on
gold silver
but muddy tears laid bodies to rest
long before you walked this dirt
and you will never be worth more
than soil
The blank calendar hung on my wall. Just another thing to remind me of my nonexistent social life, I thought. All my friends where out and about while I sat here pitying myself because of a blank agenda. I checked my Instagram feed, and as usual everyone else had something to do, but I don’t have anyone to do anything with. Then something caught my attention from the corner of my eye. I suddenly thought back to two saturdays ago, the last time I did anything with my friends.
______________________________________________________________________________________
“Hey Vi! What do you want from Dunkin Donuts?” My friend Emma yelled across the mall food court.
“Umm…. How ’bout a headlight?” I responded
“Okay.” She sang “Be right back!” and she pranced to the Dunkin Donuts kiosk. I sat at a little table with three chairs, although there were only two of us. I pulled out my phone, and as usual, I had no messages. Well that is if you don’t count my mom telling me to be home at 6. I know this sounds weird, but I’ve always enjoyed watching people. You spend your whole life being cast aside you get pretty observant. I like to watch peoples reactions to the situations thrown at them. I love putting myself in other people’s shoes, I love pretending to live someone else’s life. I was interrupted when an incredibly handsome boy that I had never seen before asked me a question.
“Is this seat taken?” He asked.
“Well… Uh… Um” he sat down “Uh sure have a seat, I guess… ya know if you want to.. I mean…”
“So I noticed you from across the room, and well you’re really cute.” he smirked slyly. I have to admit, no one has ever told me I was cute. I mean I’ve had my share of elementary school relationships that lasted a couple weeks, but none of those boys could ever compare to how this boy I had just met made me feel.
“Oh wow, thanks.” I blushed “Uh I’m Violet.”
“Ethan.” He took a napkin from the dispenser, and a pen from some survey about mortgages , and began to write his number. “Here, I’ve got to run. Text me if you get a chance.”
______________________________________________________________________________________
I picked up my phone, and the napkin pinned to my wall, and started to text.
Remember in elementary school how they used to make you have an agenda? It was really colorful and had that opaque, blurry plastic on the front? You’d write in your homework, and have your parents sign it at the end of the week. I wonder why they only made 3rd or 4th graders do that and not older kids.
Every year the school tries to make me buy one but I refuse. I know that I will never end up using this wasteful stack of papers. It’s pointless and I’d rather just remember things by writing it on the back of my hand.
“What’s on the agenda for today?,” she asked.
I dont know. I never know.
My actions are inspired by whim,
but not in a compelling, spontaneous way.
I am tired: I sleep. I am hungry: I eat.
If only it wasn’t so simple.
Call me odd. Call me peculiar, not familiar… I am a stranger. Because you see me that way, treat me that way. I ask what you say, only mumbles become you. Treat me like love, the life that fills you, surrounds you and confounds you. You find that joy you had as a kid, no #agenda nor surrender, be tender. @oneword @oznolem
Her agenda was different from everyone else at the Spy Academy. While everyone else was training for greatness; to protect and better the world, all she cared about was gaining prestige and glory to feed her ego.
“The agenda has been insane lately, I’m telling you! I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the week.”
“Aw now, don’t worry. That’s why Mr. Mooney and I are here. We can help you, don’t you worry.”
The man says, smiling, with a glint in his eye that the naive younger man doesn’t catch. “Don’t you worry.”
Hidden agendas are, apparently, common. Not just apparently; people seem one way — act to your face, to your mind, your soul, and seem one thing — but betray that persona when they work toward their hidden agenda. Secrets. Lies. Untruths. Regret and distrust.
The agenda of the public is always to undermine individuals until they are weak enough to abandon themselves and join the fold. They always want you to need them. What for?
She had a one track mind full of superstition
little pieces of history scattered with some make believe and lies
things she’d told herself all throughout the years
which had some semblance of truth
but were mainly filled with hurt and angst
tempered with an edge of paranoia.
She took her time analyzing every miniscule detail
no agenda other than picking apart her entire past
and recreating every circumstance
over and over again
until she’d made a sweater of dreams borne from nightmares.
Fog horned in the frost-marrow
of this tadpole love, which ventured
to the trenches to drown before it’d
even had the thought to breathe.
Quickly, Winter, quickly:
ice pools in my lungs like glaciers
capsizing ships of breath and alibis;
the rogue-wave tucks me in its shoe
and continues down the Baltic.
agenda agenda agenda agenda ;alskdjfaslkjdf advna;lsdkjfwoeifsldkfj asdlkfjasldkjfalskdjfa;lskdjfa;lskdjfl;kjaf;laksdfjasl;dkfjsldkjlkwjfeoijwljflkjslijdlfkjwelkjfoisjlsjalkja;sldkfjwlkjwljlskjflwkjelkjsljfkeljljflkjlkjalkjlkjlkjkjllkjljljfjfjjf;alskdjflkjwljfiejlkjlkjlkjlkjlkjlkjjlkj
i walked up to my agenda and it said it was valentines day. i was so stessed because i did not get anything for my class. i am going to bge the only person without a valentinetines day gift, i said to my self. uggg
The agenda sat on the President’s desk. He didn’t want to look at it. Not today. No more minutes, notes, bullet points. Time to leave. Get out of here and go to the beach. Some things are more important than an agenda — living life as it comes. This is not something he did very much lately, and it was killing him. Burning him out. Not the person he once was.
He definitely had his own agenda. He strode into the conference, confidently ignoring everyone around him. He knew what needed to be done, and that he was the only one who could do it.
Agenda is really a word of the century. Make it about 25 Jan and it will make all sense. It is really important aspect in succeed in your life. No really .. I mean it!
Where was it? She looked everywere, the damn thing was missingHenry? Dear? Did you pick up mommy agenda? Baby?
She up the stairs, donw to the haway and in the little bedroom was it. Her prince, four years old, on the floor. With a red crayon and her agenda. Henry dear? This is mommy agenda? And then he up the head whit a little smile.
I am doing like you mommy.
And she cant find a way to be mad.
him in that sleek gray suit with his rings clinking on cocktails speaking of all the other unspeakable things new money does in a way that makes him want to pull him down through the rungs and see the bright blue billiard chalk dusty in the ridges of his fingerprint, to lock eyes as the eight ball sinks into the corner pocket, to hate the bastard and win the game.
Its always important to have an agenda for any meeting. if a meeting request doesn’t have an agenda then its not worth attending. you should also have an agenda for your personal life…which ultimately form your life…but then when you are doing this agenda write it in pencil. I like it when I have an agenda
Agendas are constricting. Worrying about if you’re covering everything you can from minute to minute, the way it takes away opportunities throughout the day. I hate to be limited. It takes away from the wonder of enjoying the little things. Makes the person adhering to the schedule jump out of the creative mindset and into being an “adult”.
She was always on the move. She had to do this, and do that, and what not. You wondered what happened to the days when you both sat around and simply talked. However, she had an agenda and a plan, and all you had was an extra cup of cold tea. You want her to achieve her goals, and she never looked back.
It was always on the list.
But as if anyone was told *anything*… True reasons behind all. Ambiguous, shadowed purpose. ‘Cause there is always the invisible goalpost.
he was hiding everything. why couldn’t he have been honest?
it’s funny when you think of motives. human nature is never very civil.
Someone always has an agenda. Except for me. Am I the only person in the world who goes to a meeting without some sort of ulterior motive? I mean, come on! Not everyone in the world is out to get something, or get somewhere. Not everyone has an “agenda”. At least I hope not. I really don’t want to be the only one!
They were stuck in that cold room, sitting on that hard ass chair. Have writer’s block was hell as it was, but they didn’t think it was this bad.
“It’s only a word god dammit,”
I stare down at the blank notebook. Is this it? I think to myself, is this all they’re going to give me? This stupid blank notebook?
When I’d transformed into a lesbian I was sure I’d be able to learn the true meaning of the gay agenda, but this was not what I had in mind.
Κάθε μέρα δίπλα μου έχω την ατζέντα μου. Θα την ενημερώσω, θα την συμβουλευτώ, θα την διορθώσω. Είναι ο οδηγός μου. Τι θα κάνω σήμερα, πότε θα το κάνω. Είναι το μέρος που θα οργανώσω τις σκέψεις μου.
harsh. structured. purposeful. an employee at the front of the room. speaking loud. trying to make an impression. glances down at a paper in her hands. glances up. realizes she doesn’t support what the words in her hands hands are saying. she actually wants no part of it. it isn’t her plan. it’s someone else’s. what’s the point of giving up so much of yourself for someone else’s agenda. she drops the paper. it floats away into oblivion.
Agendas. She had tons of them, all on pages printed on word document’s sitting in a wire basket on her desk. Each one longer than the last. Each one never accomplished. Easier said than done.
Clutching a pale blue agenda she had found resting on their borrowed desk, Penelope let out a lingering sigh, arm thrown around Susannah’s delicate shoulders. Rubbing the redhead’s arms gently, she managed a small smile, turning her attention to the somber-eyed, brunette anchorwoman.
My worries sdrive my agenda.
Always adding more and more.
There is never a end.
always the stress of what I am missing.
Lists will do me in someday.
A death of my planner.
Russell began to suspect that the captain was working to his own agenda. There had been a rash of arrests in the past few weeks that he had no choice but to throw out as unprosecutable due to lack of evidence. The fact that they all came from the same neighbourhood as the captain was a red flag.
“So, what’s the real agenda, then?” asked Grandma. “Conversion? Witchcraft?”
“Gram!” I knew she was joking, but it had taken her quite some time to accept the fact that I was gay. As a prank, I had given her a book entitled, “The Gay Agenda,” only to have it merely be a book on how to function as a proper human being. We had fun.
Agenda reminds me of school, a schedule planned out for the day, a check list.
a list of items to be discussed during a meeting. Helps to pace the discussions and to schedule tasks. For future followups. Usually tabled in meeting minutes.
The sweet tang of jam invaded my tastebuds with its beauty. I felt the soft crunch of fresh and warm toast filling my mouth with perfection. Just two more days of sitting on the plush sofa and filing paperwork while eating jam on toast. This was the same agenda that I did every day for the past week. Just two more days until all of this was over and I had to go back to Connecticut.
My mind was slowly fuzzing away at the thought of all the work I had to complete. If I didn’t follow the perfect agenda I had set for myself this morning, I would most likely lose my job. I took another sip of the double shot expresso I had next to me and my mind began to buzz like I had an electric shock.
He wasn’t an attractive man, despite all of the finery he clothed himself in: a thousand dollar pair of Italian leather shoes, several rings of varying worth, each topped with a precious stone or other, a thousand dollar suit…. He was fat and unattractive and looked a little too much like a fish. Or perhaps a great white shark, which was still a fish. His grin was wicked and sharp, each pointed fang hiding an agenda that frightened and intrigued her.
is is what we use ti keep track of our friends and responsabilities during the day, basacly we organize our life with it.
rich in heart and soul
and diamonds,
hidden caskets
carved in your eyes
crash wide open
and they knock faithfully on your cellar door
asking for receipts, a number to prove you are real
just let them check the dirt under your nails,
harbored soul
are you the one who dug that jewel?
you kneel whisper
pray to be predator to feed on
gold silver
but muddy tears laid bodies to rest
long before you walked this dirt
and you will never be worth more
than soil
The blank calendar hung on my wall. Just another thing to remind me of my nonexistent social life, I thought. All my friends where out and about while I sat here pitying myself because of a blank agenda. I checked my Instagram feed, and as usual everyone else had something to do, but I don’t have anyone to do anything with. Then something caught my attention from the corner of my eye. I suddenly thought back to two saturdays ago, the last time I did anything with my friends.
______________________________________________________________________________________
“Hey Vi! What do you want from Dunkin Donuts?” My friend Emma yelled across the mall food court.
“Umm…. How ’bout a headlight?” I responded
“Okay.” She sang “Be right back!” and she pranced to the Dunkin Donuts kiosk. I sat at a little table with three chairs, although there were only two of us. I pulled out my phone, and as usual, I had no messages. Well that is if you don’t count my mom telling me to be home at 6. I know this sounds weird, but I’ve always enjoyed watching people. You spend your whole life being cast aside you get pretty observant. I like to watch peoples reactions to the situations thrown at them. I love putting myself in other people’s shoes, I love pretending to live someone else’s life. I was interrupted when an incredibly handsome boy that I had never seen before asked me a question.
“Is this seat taken?” He asked.
“Well… Uh… Um” he sat down “Uh sure have a seat, I guess… ya know if you want to.. I mean…”
“So I noticed you from across the room, and well you’re really cute.” he smirked slyly. I have to admit, no one has ever told me I was cute. I mean I’ve had my share of elementary school relationships that lasted a couple weeks, but none of those boys could ever compare to how this boy I had just met made me feel.
“Oh wow, thanks.” I blushed “Uh I’m Violet.”
“Ethan.” He took a napkin from the dispenser, and a pen from some survey about mortgages , and began to write his number. “Here, I’ve got to run. Text me if you get a chance.”
______________________________________________________________________________________
I picked up my phone, and the napkin pinned to my wall, and started to text.
Remember in elementary school how they used to make you have an agenda? It was really colorful and had that opaque, blurry plastic on the front? You’d write in your homework, and have your parents sign it at the end of the week. I wonder why they only made 3rd or 4th graders do that and not older kids.
Every year the school tries to make me buy one but I refuse. I know that I will never end up using this wasteful stack of papers. It’s pointless and I’d rather just remember things by writing it on the back of my hand.
“What’s on the agenda for today?,” she asked.
I dont know. I never know.
My actions are inspired by whim,
but not in a compelling, spontaneous way.
I am tired: I sleep. I am hungry: I eat.
If only it wasn’t so simple.
Call me odd. Call me peculiar, not familiar… I am a stranger. Because you see me that way, treat me that way. I ask what you say, only mumbles become you. Treat me like love, the life that fills you, surrounds you and confounds you. You find that joy you had as a kid, no #agenda nor surrender, be tender. @oneword @oznolem
Her agenda was different from everyone else at the Spy Academy. While everyone else was training for greatness; to protect and better the world, all she cared about was gaining prestige and glory to feed her ego.
“The agenda has been insane lately, I’m telling you! I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the week.”
“Aw now, don’t worry. That’s why Mr. Mooney and I are here. We can help you, don’t you worry.”
The man says, smiling, with a glint in his eye that the naive younger man doesn’t catch. “Don’t you worry.”
Hidden agendas are, apparently, common. Not just apparently; people seem one way — act to your face, to your mind, your soul, and seem one thing — but betray that persona when they work toward their hidden agenda. Secrets. Lies. Untruths. Regret and distrust.
The agenda of the public is always to undermine individuals until they are weak enough to abandon themselves and join the fold. They always want you to need them. What for?
She had a one track mind full of superstition
little pieces of history scattered with some make believe and lies
things she’d told herself all throughout the years
which had some semblance of truth
but were mainly filled with hurt and angst
tempered with an edge of paranoia.
She took her time analyzing every miniscule detail
no agenda other than picking apart her entire past
and recreating every circumstance
over and over again
until she’d made a sweater of dreams borne from nightmares.
Fog horned in the frost-marrow
of this tadpole love, which ventured
to the trenches to drown before it’d
even had the thought to breathe.
Quickly, Winter, quickly:
ice pools in my lungs like glaciers
capsizing ships of breath and alibis;
the rogue-wave tucks me in its shoe
and continues down the Baltic.