Designated Doodler

Today I walked through a familiar door into a familiar place, past faces, some of which hinted at recognition, and others that didn't. I stopped by an elderly home to deliver cards to the residents I usually play bingo with. The problem is, I'm a faces person, not particularly adept with names. So I stopped by my friend Cheryl's room for some help with names. And as I walked down sterile white halls, smelling the generic smells from the cafeteria, passing nurses and people in wheelchairs, some missing limbs, others missing sight or understanding, I felt like what I was doing wasn't enough. Cheryl helped me out with the names and I stayed and visited with her. I've played bingo there for a few years and she, and the other residents, have changed considerably in that time. She is older, more fragile, her arms darkened with bruises, the table next to her bed littered with a vast array of items. The cellphone next to her and the TV on the wall clamor with nois

I yawn Parker barks Parker rings the bells I take him outside to pee He doesn't pee A human walks by Man? Woman? I can't tell. There is a ponytail and boobs. Woman in a hoodie. A car drives by. Parker barks. We go inside. I lay down Parker barks Parker rings the bells I take him outside to pee A silver car goes by The same ponytail human walks by Parker eats a clump of dirt We walk around A different silver car goes by The SAME ponytail hoodie human walks by Parker sniffs the ground He eats grass He chases a cricket A third silver car goes by THE SAME PONYTAIL HOODIE HUMAN WOMAN WALKS BY I wonder if she is a henchman for the illuminati Or a stray "man in black" I look for a portal or teleportation pad I find none Parker licks the ground Parker doesn't pee We go inside.

This is an ode to the valiant pretzel forever lost in the quicksands of Nutella a sticky brown delicious demise a sugary serenade of sweet suffocation as each cube of salt disintegrated slowly in the sinewy slime of the liquid solid darkness enveloped the crunchy carb as air bubbled out of the collapsing cavern and the struggling pretzel gave one final wave with it's disappearing arch.

Some Hella Cool Asks 1: Marvel or DC? Always DC - Superman was my first love 2: Do you have any siblings? No 3: Do you watch anime subbed or dubbed? Neither. None. Thanks. 4: How old are you? None o' yo' biz. 5: What is your favorite sport? To play: golf To watch: football 6: Favorite soda/beverage? DR. PEPPER FOREVER 7: What is your favorite tv show? Of all time: JAG and/or Twin Peaks Currently: IMPASTOR and Braindead and/or The Blacklist 8: Do you marathon shows or watch a few episodes at a time? Both. Mostly marathon. 9: How often do you exercise? I walk 11,000 steps a day. 10: Do you wear makeup? How often? Yes. Everyday. 11: Favorite Disney movie? Alice in Wonderland 12: Would you rather watch a movie or a tv show? TV show...unless it's Star Trek, then both. 13: Do you have your driver’s license? Duh, yes. 14: What is your favorite animal? White Bengal Tiger 15: Captain America or Ironman Loki. 16: favorite youtuber? Jenna Marbles 17: What is you

Here are the important tips about teaching art that you won't find in your first year teacher's survival guide. 1. Only leave out on the table the supplies that you want each grade to use. Little kids are like bloodhounds that can find a marker in a crayon stack, and it only takes one marker to mess up a project! 2. Never give your kids the color black, unless you are using it specifically, or their work will be 90% black. I'd also go ahead and pop out all of the black cakes in the watercolor palettes. 3. Demonstrate how to do absolutely everything, from using a glue stick properly to how to do the project, step by step. 4. Start the year off by immediately telling the kids that they will always, ALWAYS, only get ONE SHEET OF PAPER. Unless you want to singlehandedly destroy the rainforest, do not hand out paper like it's candy. Instill in the kids that their work is precious and should take time and care. And if they make mistakes, they need to think of ways

Gravel ground against itself as I took one step after another. Although I could barely make it out in the midnight darkness, I knew that the black asphalt stretched out in front of me like a calloused noir arm reaching into infinity. The night breeze was nearly frigid, a stark contrast to the burning sun of midday. As soon as the sun set I slipped on my jacket. It's fabric slid against my sunburnt skin and sent a burning pain radiating across my arms and neck. I became keenly aware of my body at that moment. The way the fabric of my shirt moved against my skin, the way my feet ached so bad that the hurt travelled all the way to my upper thighs. My feet slid around in the vast house of my shoes, leaving bleeding callouses on my heels. My once soft curls fluttered with each whisper of wind. My hands were in knots, shoved deep into my jacket's pockets. I listened intently for the sound of a car engine, for the promise of human life, but heard only deafening silence. If ther

There's a hitch in my breathing, just knowing that you're standing like a pillar at the end of the corridor. My mind reconstructs your face, my heart skips, and makes it harder to traverse the distance between us. As one foot steps in front of the other, I feel a spike of adrenaline pulse into my stomach and consider each location in my body that emotion is housed.  Anxiety lives in my legs, making them feel like cold jello, useless beneath me. Joy dwells in my mouth and delights in every scoop of Ben & Jerry's. Anticipation builds in my stomach,just below where my ribcage joins together. Stress accumulates at the base of my skull and delivers painful pulses down the highway of my spine to my knotted back. Sadness balls itself up in my throat and burns in my red eyes. Whereas happiness spreads like fire in the smile on my face and impatience is encapsulated in perpetually tapping toes. Creativity starts in my brain but is housed in my hands that live to create.