I never thought much of flowers when I was a boy. Other than the occasional enhanced interrogation of a daisy for the purposes of gathering romantic intelligence, I had no real use for them. It wasn’t that I actively disliked them, but rather that I simply couldn’t… (continued)
Not a thing…
Not a single thing…
As I leaf through the pages, I find myself becoming increasingly alarmed. I can see nothing, not even page numbers. What on earth am I going to write about? It may sound as though I’m blaming my notebook here, but of course this would be a silly way to frame my problem. I’m actually blaming my notebooks. I have four of them and they’re all… (Continued)
How tough can it be to raise two kids? About twice as tough as raising one, right? Guess again. You see, when it comes to children, the normal laws of logic, space and time no longer apply. Raising two children is many times more difficult than raising one. How many times? No one is sure. Scientists have tried to measure it, but their instruments are simply not designed to withstand the withering levels of sarcasm involved in getting close enough to take readings.
Nevertheless, if (CONTINUED)
It’s the direction in which I’m least proficient and the one I think least often about. Perhaps it’s not surprising that I regard it a little differently from the rest. After all, compare it to the other directions. I often have occasion to move, say, left or right. The morning walk from my bedroom door to the bathroom would be impossible to survive without my ability to sidestep two frantic teenagers as they race up the hall one way with an undershirt over their head and then hop down it the other trying to put on a second sock.
Forward is very… (CONTINUED)