Kat Noland
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Stories (4)
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Boredom Is A Dangerous Thing
None of it made sense. No name. No address. Just a small box wrapped in brown paper with three handwritten chicken scratch sentences. Without a birthday or holiday or any kind of special occasion in sight, I had nothin'. The real kicker, the part that baffled me the most, was how it got in my mailbox in the first place—you need a key to open it.
By Kat Noland4 years ago in Horror
Hotel Hero
812 - Towels 912 - NO AC 514 - Toothbrush At twelve percent occupancy, I’m still writing down guest requests. It feels silly...but...force of habit I guess. I remember when the hotel gave us these black leather notebooks to take notes in during our shift. We were forbidden to write in anything else at the front desk. It was important to stay "on brand." None of that matters now, but I still have a weird attachment to it. I’m also getting old, and the older I get, the less I care about things. The less I care about things, the harder it is to remember them. Apathy doesn’t serve memory well. So I need to write things down.
By Kat Noland5 years ago in Journal
Third Time's Just Another Time
I am now on the 4th draft of a letter to my brother who recently went to rehab in Florida. I figured now is as good of time as any to procrastinate just a little longer. It’s been 29 days, 688 hours, and 13 minutes since I’ve had a drink myself. But who’s counting? Me. I’m counting.
By Kat Noland5 years ago in Psyche
