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Waiting, procrastinating, stall – whatever name it goes by it’s deadly. It causes you to squander precious time. Time you can never get back. It holds up the creative process.
By WriterFish on 10.21.2009
I stalling. I don’t even know what to write. I just found out that my Grandma died today. It feels like life has stalled. I’m just at a stop. Remember to breath. In – Out – In – Out.
By Stephanie on 10.21.2009
I sometimes this it would be nice to stall time. I could have a moment all to myself to gather my thoughts and be prepared, like the Twix commercials you see on TV. It would be like a time machine, but maybe not as cool. And at least when I was done I wouldn’t have to worry about caramel in my teeth.
By Chars on 10.21.2009
After I stall my car in the driveway in the morning, I know its going to be a bad day. It’s the first sign of off luck. Every time. Never fail.
By TS on 10.21.2009
a car getting stuck in gear
By r on 10.21.2009
Where did I put that horse? Wait, wait. I’m not ready! Oh, yeah. The horse. Seems like an awfully small room for such a big creature. I would think he’d want more room to stretch out. It would be kinda like having to live in my bathroom all the time. Yuck!
By ltg on 10.21.2009
Something I do when the teacher calls on me. I often not paying attention so I have to distract her while I can come up with an appropriate answer. This is also where I get a lot of reading done. And iPhone gaming.
By mcallinder on 10.21.2009
why think when you can do? why wait for the phone call when you can call? why wait for change when you could be the change?
the answer: DON’T
don’t wait, don’t stall, live
By Naama on 10.21.2009
I’m in a room full of friends, acquaintences, strangers, and less than humans. I’m currently “stalling” as it is my turn to attribute to conversation.
By Mlh on 10.21.2009
stalling. that is what my car does at every other light. sometimes it stops when I going down hills as well. My car defies gravity. I have no idea how it works, but it may be because it belonged to an astronaut before I bought it. His post-weightlessness rubbed off on this poor car.
By Katie on 10.21.2009
The market stalls had some burning smell of cinnamon, red pepper, and something else I couldn’t identify. Not to mention it was noisy as hell. I couldn’t hear myself think over the sounds of screaming children and animals, and the random words of odd gossip.
By firstname.lastname@example.org on 10.21.2009
She sat with her head propped on her hands, bent forward over the stall. The trestle was filled with beautiful jewellery, her handiwork. She had been at the market for hours, since 5.00am, and had not sold a single piece. Her rent was overdue (as was her period), she had bills mounting up and had no idea how she was going to get some money together. On top of that she had just split up with her boyfriend.
By Deidre on 10.21.2009
By Anonymous on 10.21.2009
sometimes i feel afraid, and the only thing I can think to do is stall. The fear is immobilizing, penetrating. Sometimes it is so great that I think I may just freeze, and never move again.
By nick on 10.21.2009
La cavalla sculetta nella stalla e lo stallone, un vero guardone, si masturba dietro al portellone. Lo stalliere nel chiosco, ignora il fiorir del sottobosco. La cavalla sculetta, lo stallone pugnetta e lo stalliere trinchetta…
By Peppistrillu on 10.21.2009
The stall of the car made the woman terrified. She couldn’t think of anything worse that could happen that day, everything else already did. She started to cry, everything was going bad. Why did this happen to me, she thought…
By anda Cross on 10.21.2009
By Amanda Cross on 10.21.2009
I sat, waiting. The horse in the stall beside me began swaying its head impatiently, pawing the ground with an upset snort of its large, flared nostrils. Before I knew it, I was thrown aside, and he flew out of his wooden encasing with the rhythmic thrumming of his hooves.
By Olivia on 10.21.2009
A stall is a place where horses live. To stall is also to prevent something else from happening. I’m stalling right now, actually, writing this. I’m putting off my excitement for NaNoWriMo that’s coming up, and that’s really hard to do. I’m probably going off on some huge tangent, but that’s okay. Stalling. It’s pretty awesome, right? Yep. I feel like a moron.
By Jessica F. on 10.21.2009
There’s a woman sitting at a diner table, her head in her hands and her throat filled with tears. ‘They’ll have the results in fifteen minutes’ – that was ten minutes ago. She should go and see them, find out. but she doesn’t want to. She wants to stay right here, not moving. She doesn’t want to find out, really. If it stays secret, then it won’t be true.
By Kitty on 10.21.2009
the woman stood infront of her stall, looking at the dolls she had placed there for sale. she was nervous. would anyone buy them? would they love
them as she had done as she sewed them deep in the night, watching each face emerge from the fabric.
By sarah on 10.21.2009
cino in cima cadde senza rima senza senno cadde e ruppe l’elmo si cinse la testa di cinzia e cintasi la capa di rapa di crapa pelada mor
By SerafinoGubbio on 10.21.2009
I walked through the stables till I got to my horse Red’s stall. I walked up behind him and put my hand on his side like I do every day to make him let me through. Today it happened to scare him and he kicked me in the chest. I broke 2 ribs.
By Shaunessy Quinn on 10.21.2009
By D on 10.21.2009
I’m stalling. I shouldn’t even be here. I should be at my desk, editing if not writing. I need to write. Editing would be stalling. But here I doing exercises that are supposed to help me write instead of actually writing. But I writing aren’t I? Is that actually stalling? God I can’t stop watching the line at the top of the box. It is turning red. I think time is almost up. Then wh—
By quintessa on 10.21.2009
A stall is where a horse lives. Yes, a horse. Facing a wall, in a stall, munching on hay, all day.
If you are on the wrong side of that stall, you’ll be shovelling hay. Not all day, I’d say.
And tehre it is.
By Becky on 10.21.2009
The plane state quietly on the tarmac. It’s engine had stalled, or that’s what the passengers were told anyways. They sat in there uncomfortable, assigned seats sweating and wondering when they would get off the ground and get on their way.
By Sam on 10.21.2009
bathroom or farm
Stalling is what I’m doing right now. I have a midterm and two papers to work on, none of which I’ve started, and countless people to e-mail about this predicament, and yet what I doing? Writing frivolously and playing Farmville. Yeah that’s right, I said it. I play Farmville. *headdesk*
By Sarah on 10.21.2009
No market ever has a ‘purveyor of goods’, just a stand, or a stall, and what do those two words have in common? That’s right, they show the true meaning of a market is that it’s there to slow us down, to stall us on our way to somewhere more important…
By Mort on 10.21.2009
where is there a world? im quite confused. unless its madd tiny i dont see shit. kinda pissed off. do you see anything? my inagine is good but not if im looking at a white page when there is supposed to be a world. im confused. im also done typing. have fun.
By matt on 10.21.2009
I unzipped my pants in the stall. Something was missing. But how? I saw it earlier this morning. That’s not fair! Uh-oh…what will my wife think. This isn’t good.
By Doof Murphy on 10.21.2009
bathroom toilet door doodles loud girls horse
By maggie riser on 10.21.2009
the engine stalled right in the middle of downtown, where was I going anyway? could I ever get there now? I sit alone in my car and feel the tears start falling. I laugh in the silence …
By Lyndsay on 10.21.2009
“Don’t stall on me,” I muttered to myself as the engine sputtered. I pressed the accelarator pedal gently trying not to give the car too much gas. The engine hesitated and then stopped. I was stalled in the middle of one the busiest streets in the height of traffic. I turned the ignition and tried to crank the engine, but no luck. Damn, it was hot and my forehead began to perspire. Trying the ignition again with no luck, I looked in my rearview mirror. The guy in the car behind seemed to be calmly waiting. He looked like a businessman on his way home perhaps. The driver behind him was not so patient. That driver honked his horn a couple of short blasts and then just layed into the horn. Like a baby crying in a crowded nursery, he got other drivers to start honking their horns.
By Arlee Bird on 10.21.2009
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.