Humanity
Joe Pisani (assessment): How a facial covering saved my life (not that way)
(What you are going to peruse is a genuine, dislike those Disney films where they say, "In light of real occasions" or "Intently looking like a genuine story" or "A fictionalized genuine story." Here you get only the genuine article.)
By AVNI4 years ago in Confessions
I Think I Need My Job
Sooo… there’s some type of ice monster storm going on outside my house that shut down the city for the day and I'm not mad at all. I’m all wrapped up in my fluffy gray blanket, have my favorite snacks, and an entire list of saved T.V Series to dive into. Mad excited, as one should be but before getting into it, I decided to do one last finger strut through my phone making my way towards the “Do Not Disturb”. It’s at this point when I came across a text that said something to the effect of, new work requirements, vaccination cards, with due dates in order to keep working and I’m like (lip smack) Whaa…. Now I’m not crazy, I knew it was coming at some point but right before one of the most romantic days of the year? REALLY? Now is that love? I think not! Amazingly as that was happening I get a call from a friend stating they were going through this exact Situa (no misspell, yes I don’t say the whole word all the time) at their job, despite the man-hours and loyalty. Pretty much if it’s a no-go they said don’t show. SMH! Sooo… after being on my “Golden Girl” (Being a Friend), I hung up and suddenly, I wasn’t so cozy anymore, in fact, the thought of watching tv at that moment annoyed me. Seemed like that ice storm outside had set the tone for the rest of day. Sooo… now I need everyone to pay it forward and get on their “Golden Girl” (Being a Friend), for a moment and oblige me if you will as I vent just like I let my friend do on the phone.
By QC (A.K.A Soul Writer)4 years ago in Confessions
“Don’t Talk To Me From The Next Bloody Room!” (Part two of two)
I leave the audiology department that day with three things I didn’t have before: An audiologist I truly believe will do his best to treat me as an individual. I love how he explained my rather unusual audiogram to me, which explains why I can hear birds singing but not people’s voices. Talk about a lightbulb moment!
By Alex Frederickson4 years ago in Confessions
His Dream Keeps Me Living
My start to living a better life, came with a simple rule of planting seeds. See, there was a time when I thought an eye for an eye attitude was the only way to live. I thought that karma wasn't working fast enough when people did me wrong and wanted to get even. However, life taught me better and some of the viewing and reading of Dr. King Jr.'s words gave me a better insight on life. After all, only love can get rid of hate!
By Jay LeTron Dobbins4 years ago in Confessions
„Don’t Talk To Me From The Next Bloody Room!“ (Part one of two)
Picture it, Sicily, 1921…not a Golden Girls fan? Ok, skip the joke! No seriously, picture the scene: It’s 1977 and I’m an 11 year old on my first school trip abroad. We’re in Amsterdam. I’m standing at the back of the group and our teacher is telling us about the arrangements for the next day. Strange, I can’t hear him properly. I grab my friend and pull her to the front. Ah, that’s better.
By Alex Frederickson4 years ago in Confessions
A Letter To Myself In 10 Years
Dear Carlos, I wanted to enter into one of the many challenges that Vocal offers its writers. The challenge that I entered required me to write a letter to my hero. However, I wasn't sure who I considered my hero to be. Initially, I was trying to choose between either Jordan Peterson, Elon Musk, or Mr. Beast. Although, after seeking advice from my family, I was given the idea to write a letter to you... or should I say to us.
By Carlos Guerra4 years ago in Confessions
Dissociation, Chaos and love in my mind.
Day 1 This book is about my life, I will be writing this book as I would talk in real life, so sometimes it may be hard to follow, so challenge is on you if you can keep up or not. My life has been full of ups and downs, right now I can mainly just remember the downs, but I am working through this with my therapist. I will not be writing my name or the names involved in my life, so the characters in my book will be names I have made up,I am not about to get sued for telling my story. lol! If you are still up to the challenge to follow along with my mind. Welcome to my life.
By Ashley Richardson4 years ago in Confessions
Turning Split Soles
Backstory - When I was younger, I did ballet and ice skated. After a year or so of learning both, my parents had me choose between the two. At the young age of 5 I choose to continue in ice skating. For a long time I would look back on that decision and regret the choice, because the adult in me wanted to be a professional ballerina, or at least some modified version of that. It haunted me for a long time, I held resentment and dreamed of the life I had thrown away as a child. Melodrama followed me, as I dreamt of this opportunity that had been taken away from me. It took giving birth to my daughter and enrolling her in ballet to realize how ridiculous I had been. My parents wanted me to pursue one thing and excel in it, I got it now, as a parent, I understood what they did. I may have been young but I was given the choice, it was MY choice, and I CHOOSE to skate.
By C.Z. Munu 4 years ago in Confessions
Brill
Oh, how fascinating it was! How she enjoyed it! How she loved sitting here, watching it all! It was like a play. It was exactly like a play. Who could believe the sky at the back wasn't painted? But it wasn't till a little brown dog trotted on solemn and then slowly trotted off, like a little "theatre" dog, a little dog that had been drugged, that Miss Brill discovered what it was that made it so exciting. They were all on the stage. They weren't only the audience, not only looking on; they were acting. Even she had a part and came every Sunday. No doubt somebody would have noticed if she hadn't been there; she was part of the performance after all. How strange she'd never thought of it like that before! And yet it explained why she made such a point of starting from home at just the same time each week--so as not to be late for the performance--and it also explained why she had quite a queer, shy feeling at telling her English pupils how she spent her Sunday afternoons. No wonder! Miss Brill nearly laughed out loud. She was on the stage. She thought of the old invalid gentleman to whom she read the newspaper four afternoons a week while he slept in the garden. She had got quite used to the frail head on the cotton pillow, the hollowed eyes, the open mouth and the high pinched nose. If he'd been dead she mightn't have noticed for weeks; she wouldn't have minded. But suddenly he knew he was having the paper read to him by an actress! "An actress!" The old head lifted; two points of light quivered in the old eyes. "An actress--are ye?" And Miss Brill smoothed the newspaper as though it were the manuscript of her part and said gently; "Yes, I have been an actress for a long time." The band had been having a rest. Now they started again. And what they played was warm, sunny, yet there was just a faint chill--a something, what was it?--not sadness--no, not sadness--a something that made you want to sing. The tune lifted, lifted, the light shone; and it seemed to Miss Brill that in another moment all of them, all the whole company, would begin singing. The young ones, the laughing ones who were moving together, they would begin, and the men's voices, very resolute and brave, would join them. And then she too, she too, and the others on the benches--they would come in with a kind of accompaniment--something low, that scarcely rose or fell, something so beautiful--moving...And Miss Brill's eyes filled with tears and she looked smiling at all the other members of the company. Yes, we understand, we understand, she thought--though what they understood she didn't know. Just at that moment a boy and girl came and sat down where the old couple had been. They were beautifully dressed; they were in love. The hero and heroine, of course, just arrived from his father's yacht. And still soundlessly singing, still with that trembling smile, Miss Brill prepared to listen. "No, not now," said the girl. "Not here, I can't." "But why? Because of that stupid old thing at the end there?" asked the boy. "Why does she come here at all--who wants her? Why doesn't she keep her silly old mug at home?" "It's her fu-ur which is so funny," giggled the girl. "It's exactly like a fried whiting." "Ah, be off with you!" said the boy in an angry whisper. Then: "Tell me, ma petite chere--" "No, not here," said the girl. "Not yet." ... On her way home she usually bought a slice of honey-cake at the baker's. It was her Sunday treat. Sometimes there was an almond in her slice, sometimes not. It made a great difference. If there was an almond it was like carrying home a tiny present--a surprise--something that might very well not have been there. She hurried on the almond Sundays and struck the match for the kettle in quite a dashing way. But to-day she passed the baker's by, climbed the stairs, went into the little dark room--her room like a cupboard--and sat down on the red eiderdown. She sat there for a long time. The box that the fur came out of was on the bed. She unclasped the necklet quickly; quickly, without looking, laid it inside. But when she put the lid on she thought she heard something crying.
By Ram4 years ago in Confessions
San Francisco Extremes
The night heat is heavy and brutal. The beer cold. I pull a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet and toss it on the bar. Market street is heaving with people. In the sky, lightning zips up clouds, but no rain is falling. The air is burning, ash covering cars. I think of the firefighters north of here. What they would give for a rest and a cold beer.
By harry hogg4 years ago in Confessions
