A thought

My roommates are giggling as they look up palm reading on the glowing Apple notebook. We’ve been preparing all day for the party. Searching out D.I. costumes, fun foods, and all the right ghostly trimmings that are required for a memorable Halloween party. I put down the polyester cobwebs and plop in between the two and offer my left hand.

“Tell me my future, Madam Drusilla.” I say in a mock awestruck voice and laughter escapes the three of us.

Kjirstin grasps my hand and leans over it. She begins her newly learned mysticism in her best imitation of a Transylvanian accent. “You vill meet a maun.” More giggles. “Okay, okay! It says the shape of your palm means you do things quietly and intuitively. You have shallow lines which means…” She turns away and scrolls up on the webpage. “You are manipulated by others.”

We continued looking at each other’s palms and making up fake fortunes since none of us really believed in it. Though, even days after, I would look at my palm when my mind wandered in class or at church, or when I was just taking a moment to myself. I would trace those lines with my fingertips and will them to be deeper.

I have nothing to say

I sit at work, just out of sight of the desk. No one is around this row of computers. The thinly veiled florescent bulbs hang heavy above my head; the artificial light raining down on everything in sight. I pull open a blank blog post. Close it. Open it. Write a word, a phrase, a paragraph. Delete it. I have nothing to say. I smell the harsh hand sanitizer that reminds me of the alcohol wipes used at hospitals to disinfect the flesh before the nurse pierces it with a cold needle. My stomach growls, and my feet are over warm in my furry winter boots. One minute to go. I've wasted an hour trying to get motivated for homework. This isn't boding well for the weekend.