novicepen

[novicepen]

I am but a few strokes of ink in the story of your life

As for me, I formed my entire life story around yours such that I feel I never truly existed at all.

[novicepen]

“Don’t you love me”

“Well… I love you as much as my heart will allow me to love anyone. Isn’t that enough?”

It wasn’t.

[novicepen]

To live is to suffer.....

But perhaps I would be suffering a bit less with a peanut butter nutella acai bowl....

[novicepen]

It's so easy to assume that your skinny friend doesn't struggle with food like you do. Just remember, just because you can't see their struggle doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Every person you come across truly is fighting a battle you may never know about.

[novicepen]

In the kitchen chopping these vegetables because I love you

In the bathroom scrubbing the toilet because I love you

In the laundry room folding your underwear because I love you

In the bedroom vacuuming the mattress because I love you

In the garden pulling weeds from your tomato plants because I love you

In the closet because I love you

[novicepen]

The idea of just one person being as passionate an as I am about something I created fills me with unimaginable joy.

It may never happen, but it’s not impossible. Everything feels impossible until it is done.

[novicepen]

The more birth stories I read the more I realize how easy mine were…

And if that’s what easy is like…

The idea of experiencing any worse makes me feel nauseous.

[novicepen]

How is it that a man can live in a house for three whole years and still not know where the pots and pans belong?

[novicepen]

I hate that my boomer mom assumes I want my clothes to be giant and shapeless because I’m fat. It’s probably because she doesn’t want to be reminded of my obesity, but the only thing achieved when I wear that kind of clothing is I look even bigger than I already am…

[novicepen]

*Me sitting down to write smut.*

But first! We must thoroughly understand this man's fractured and devastated sense of self. Only then can we truly appreciate how connected he feels to her while finger-banging the soul from her body.

[novicepen]

Handle your own bullshit before you attack the way I handle mine.

[novicepen]

Imagine…

You’re a middle aged man who just can’t seem to keep a job. Everyone always seems to be against you wherever you go, and you can’t explain why that is. You just got fired for the third time this year. Your wife and two kids are out of town until tomorrow so you thankfully don’t have to say anything to them quite yet.

You just got home to your beautiful home that you’re terrified to lose. You want to drown your sorrows in alcohol, but you know that you should probably spend the evening sending in job applications. The anxiety has you feeling nauseous in a way that you can’t focus on a single thing in front of you. You can’t get the image of your wife telling you not to mess up out of your head.

How can you possibly tell her that you’ve lost yet another job? Your landlord has already been so lenient with you. He even gave you a 50% discount for the past few months to help you get back on your feet. You know he only gave you the discount cause of the “favor” you did for him that you both promised to never speak of again. You shiver at the thought of having to perform more favors.

After sitting on the couch for an hour staring at your laptop, you figure one drink couldn’t hurt. In fact, one drink might be the cure to the pit of dread inside you. Tonight is the perfect night to break open the good stuff. Whiskey from your brother’s brewery. Somehow your brother managed to turn his fault (alcoholism) into a whole career, yet somehow you can’t even keep a simple desk job.

One drink quickly turns into a number you won’t even remember the next day, and next thing you know, you’re woken up by lukewarm, sticky liquid in your face. As you open your eyes, you see your wife is standing there with an empty McDonald’s cup in one hand and your two year old in the other. Her usually beautiful face is contorted into pure rage. You can’t help being mad at her even though the only person you should be mad at is yourself.

“What the hell, Lana?” You scream as you try to dry off with the nearest object, which happens to be your wife’s favorite white blouse that was sitting in a basket of clean folded laundry. You figure if she doesn’t want it used as a towel she should’ve put it away like a good wife would. Plus, it’s kind of her fault for throwing soda at you.

“I can’t believe you!” Her voice is a shrill scream that causes pain to shoot through your head.

You’ve never drunk this much in your life, and usually this much alcohol would just make you pass out, but from the looks of the living room, you’ve been very… productive. Job searching? Not so much. DoorDash? Very much so. Five different fast food bags with door dash stickers sealing them are on your coffee table. Well, at least you got them off the front porch.

“Naomi told me you lost your job AGAIN. And then I come home and you have all this crap food sitting on the porch. You’re lucky I found it before the ants did.” She puts your two-year-old daughter down on the ground and she waddles away like she has a full diaper. Your wife scoops up the bags off the table mumbling something about being the only adult in the house. You’ve learned to tune out half of the things she says, though, so currently the only thing you feel bothered about is the sticky sensation on your skin. The doorbell rings and you and your wife make eye confused eye contact. She grits her teeth. “That better not be more DoorDash.”

You roll your eyes at the absurdity of the accusation. You’ve been asleep for the past hour so it’s not even possible that could be DoorDash again… or is it? You open your mouth to say something but your wife interrupts your thought. “You get the door, I’m going to throw this nasty food in the garbage outside and then change your daughter’s diaper.”

As you walk to the front door, you try to brainstorm ways to diffuse your wife’s anger, but every idea seems even worse than the last. At least, you reach the from door, and when you open it, it’s not who you expected. It’s two police officers. Their body language seems casual so the likelihood of them being here about the favor you did for your landlord seems slim to none.

“The police? What the hell did you do this time Leonard?” Your wife’s voice behind you makes you jump. She always does everything so fast, it feels like she’s teleporting sometimes. On her hip is your two year old wearing a fresh diaper and a light purple colored dress, which you learned to call lilac. Behind her, you see your five year old son peaking through her legs looking afraid. That’s a look you know very well.

“No no he didn’t do anything,” one of the officers says. “We’re here investigating something that was potentially misplaced inside of a DoorDash order.” The officer’s tone makes it seem like it’s something small, but the fact they’re investigating so quickly makes you think it’s something big. “Did you notice anything strange about your food?”

You and your wife’s face both scrunch with confusion. The food is in the trash so you wouldn’t know if anything about it was strange. “Nope, nothing strange,” you say before your wife can say anything. “Did someone get sick or something?”

The officers look at each other and exchange a look you can’t quite interpret. The other officer steps forward. “Do you mind if we take a look around?”

“Uhh…” You try to find an excuse to say no that won’t make you sound like you’re trying to hide something. Everything that could get you in trouble though is (mostly) hidden, but having police combing through your home doesn’t exactly sound like a good idea.

“Oh absolutely!” Your wife chimes in using her fake cheerful voice. “Anything to help you find what you’re looking for.”

The officers enter and walk around looking for God knows what while your wife turns on a movie for your kids in e living room. They only look around for a few minutes before thanking you for your time and leaving. “Wonder what that was about,” your wife muses aloud.

For a moment, you go on your computer and continue looking at job listings, but then your mind wanders to the fast food bags sitting in the garbage can outside your house. Curiosity seeps into your brain. You figure taking a little peak at the bags can’t hurt since the police have already left.

You walk outside and look around to double check there aren’t any police cars or unfamiliar cars. You’ve made that a habit ever since doing that favor. Not a day goes by that you don’t regret it, but at this point there’s nothing you can do. You close your eyes and shake your head as if you’re trying to shake out the memory, but the only thing that accomplishes is another piercing jab in the front of your head. You take deep breaths until the worst of the pain is gone and walk over to the garbage can.

Right on top, as expected, are all of the unopened fast food bags. One by one, you open them. First the Taco Bell bags. Nothing seems unusual. The only thing criminal in this one is the potentially toxic ingredients. At least that’s what your self-proclaimed “crunchy” wife would say. The second bag, Burger King, is the same. Nothing special, but you’re surprised that you would order five sandwiches and have no memory. Nothing unusual in the Arby’s bag or Chick-Fil-A bag, but the moment you pick up the McDonald’s bag, you know something is wrong.

The bag is much heavier than you expected it to be, and even before opening it, the contents don’t look like food at all. Slowly, you peel the sticker. Your intuition is screaming at you to not let anyone see the contents of this bag. You look around your back yard as another safety measure. As you open the bag, you put all your focus towards keeping a blank face. All the focus in the world couldn’t have kept the gasp from escaping your mouth once you saw what this bag contained. Piles and piles of cash.

[novicepen]

I will give you everything I own down to the shirt on my back if you promise to actually use it.

It’s such a horrible feeling to give up something you wanted because someone said they need it only for them to only use it once.

[novicepen]

Eat what you have on your plate before going back to the buffet for more …..

(This is not about food)

[novicepen]

“What if I write it and it’s bad-”

WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS GOOD? WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANTED? WHAT THEN????

[novicepen]

Be nice to me or I might kill you in my next book 🤭

[novicepen]

Be careful telling a room of creative people not to do something or you might end up being their next sacrifice.