macman02's profile

My cell phone was getting impatient. It had been blinking all night long on the dining room table. Text memory full. I picked it up among a dusty stack of unread mail, old magazines, paint samples and papers that should have been filed months ago. Text message received: I'm the person who's terrified of growing old alone, and ends up growing alone anyway. I'm ashamed of my table. Not that there's anything wrong with it. It's a fine piece of furniture. It belonged to my maternal grandparents. ...

I saw myself today. At the mall. In the food court. I was 14, maybe 15 years old. I looked different. Lanky and blond instead of dark haired and stocky. And yet I was the same. Standing next to a group of classmates who wouldn’t let me into their circle, I was trying desperately to fit in. None of them would talk to me, but I stood back and nodded and smiled along anyway. No matter which way I moved, they just kept talking to each other, their backs to me. My face felt hot. My status as an o...

An angel is gone. He died yesterday. No one expected it — his roommates, his best friend. And not me. Physically, the urge to write is consuming me. It's overwhelming. I can feel it getting more intense the longer I wait. I'm not ready to write. But I need to. Maybe I'll come back when I'm at peace with this and write again. I feel like part of me was ripped away. I cried as I talked to his friend last night to find out what happened. We were both numb. I sat at my desk for a long time afterw...

I saw myself today. At the mall. In the food court. I was 14, maybe 15 years old. I looked different. Lanky and blond instead of dark haired and stocky. And yet I was the same. Standing next to a group of classmates who wouldn't let me into their circle, I was trying desperately to fit in. None of them would talk to me, but I stood back and nodded and smiled along anyway. No matter which way I moved, they just kept talking to each other, their backs to me. My face felt hot. My status as an ou...

I can feel the car leering, sneering when I pass it on the way to work every morning. For months, the 1971 Chevelle has sat right across from my office waiting for a new owner. Everyday for three months I drive to work hoping it will be gone. And everyday it is still there. This car is a monument to my failure - my decision to put my career before my personal life. I love old Chevys, Chevelle's especially. But I have come to hate this car. It is overpriced. Terribly so. It's white, but I can ...