A Treatise on Procrastination.A Treatise on Procrastination: The Art, The Science, The Magic.
Procrastination, is a very unique skill, unlike anything else you can put your mind to. It is an art, a science, an act of magic.
Well, kind of. It's something that only certain people can get away with. People can procrastinate forever.
Transgender Day of RemembranceTransgender Day of RemembranceTransgender Day of Remembrance1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I walked into class today,
Dressed in my finest dress,
My cutest shoes,
A pair of cute gloves,
And my hair teased,
And I cried when I looked in the mirror.
He came to school,
Looking so cool,
With his hair cut short,
A leather jacket,
And a motorcycle helmet,
And he cried when he looked in the mirror.
She kissed her papa,
Her mama cried.
She walked down the street,
The first time in a new age,
And she stopped for a moment,
And she cried when she looked in the mirror.
I walked in the front door,
My sister stood mouth agape.
She swore heartily,
My clothes borrowed,
And never asked for,
And I cried when I looked in the mirror.
He grabbed his keys,
Hopped off to go riding,
Angry at his parents,
His girlfriend was near,
And she loved him,
While he cried when he looked in the mirror.
She walked in the office,
Handed in her resignation.
Her boss glared at her,
But she didn’t care.
And she walked off triumphant,
But she cried when she looked in the mirror.
TG Questionaire goes onlineTG Questionaire goes onlineTG Questionaire goes online2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Harry Erikson waited for the class to be over so he could leave. It’s not that he didn’t like French class – he was actually quite fluent -, but it was actually because the other students in his class just weren’t interested in learning. Sure, he also wanted to go home and play video games, but the fact that the other students were doing anything but reading their tasks for today was just a pain. He wasn’t too keen on snitching, but that was because he knew what would happen if he did: another beating for being the class’ scape-goat.
After finishing his assignment, he looked back at the clock and let out a sigh: half an hour to go, and nothing to do. He would have just ended up doing like everyone else – going online to have a bit of off-time fun, until an in-message from his school Skype account showed up.
To my new friend,
You look so bored, just sitting there. Here's a game to amuse yourself into. Have f
Secretary - TGThere was a button beneath Leonardo's desk. He'd noticed it a few minutes ago, for the first time, upon reaching under his desk. He'd found it by accident, chasing a dropped pen; it had fascinated him since, distracting him from his work every time he'd directed his eyes at the cluttered mass of papers amassed on the cherry wood. Everything did that, though; work was just too boring.Secretary - TG4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The button, though, was special; or Leonardo told himself it was. It was a button; a red button, placed beneath his desk without his foreknowledge, just primed for an accidental touch; it filled his imagination with possibilities, straight from his artwork. Perhaps it was a secret button; capable of turning men into women. Perhaps it shot a call to the police; or some secret agents, who had been tied to the last owner of his desk. Perhaps his desk had some amazing, legendary ex owner; despite the fact that he had bought it new.
His fingers clutched at his knee caps, resisting the urge to crawl forward and
Sleeping Beauty-ishSleeping Beauty-ishSleeping Beauty-ish2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
By Shawna Stimple
"Damn!" Eugene Wilson exclaimed as he ran down the street, trying to find anywhere that would cut his hair. It was Christmas break, nineteen sixty five, and his mother decided it was the perfect time for family photos. His sister would be home from college, and it was the first time that they had seen her since she had left. Mrs. Wilson thought that it would be the perfect occasion for a photo, helping them to remember that time in their lives.
Eugene's mother had bribed him, with a new guitar, and lessons, if he had his hair cut in time for the photo. He's hadn't had it cut in months, and it fell to his shoulders, in unkempt uneven lengths. He had procrastinated for too long, and the photo was today. He had 4 hours, to get his haircut, and get back home. For a fifteen year old, without a car, it wasn't easy.
The first storefront he'd passed with a pair of scissors on the window, he entered. It was a small one room shop, with pastel pink wall paper