Stream of consciousness, easily used when one can't think of something specific to write about. However, stream of consciousness tends to be erratic and doesn't often make sense in the long run. But one cannot be picky when one is having a hard time thinking of anything to write about. It seems that the void in my head has not closed, but I will fix that hole brick by brick, word by word, until the void is gone. In its place will be a fire spewing out sentences and paragraphs until stories and poetry will be etched in the flames.
I dreamed that I lived in a dorm, and I wanted to get a shower. I grabbed my shampoo, soap, clothes, and other toiletry and walked to the community shower. I put my stuff in the bathroom; then, realizing I had forgotten something, I went back to my dorm room. When I returned to the shower, the door was locked and I couldn't get my stuff. Though a community bathroom, it only had one shower. For the next hour, I kept going back and forth from my bedroom to the bathroom in frustration and anger because the door remained locked.
As you hold this postcard in your palm,
Here I am in Germany
Wishing you were here with me.
The weather has gotten cold.
The leaves have turned red, orange, and gold.
Right now Oktoberfest is the place to go,
But alas, this year we must say no.
Instead we'll enjoy the Frankenstein Castle
Where ghosts and vampires will be a hassle.
Every room will be a fright.
I'm sure I'll scream with all my might.
I still can't wait to go to Italy,
So many places I want to see.
I hope you visit soon.
The young boy threw a rock into the lake. It plopped into the water, forming ripples from the impact.
"Here, l'll show you. Like this," his older brother said. He threw a rock, and it skipped across the lake four times.
"Wow," the younger brother said. "Let me try again!" He picked up a small rock from the ground and threw it into the lake, but it landed only a short distance away from where they stood. His face fell in disappointment. "I can't do it!" he complained.
"Yes you can," his older brother replied. "You just need to practice."
Gurgling, growling, pinching, pulling, queasy, incessant pain. Nausea. My stomach has become a stranger to me. I don't know how to satisfy it. What's too much food? What's too little food? How long do I wait to feed it? When am I even hungry anymore? My mind has been reduced to just feeling the pain. All other thoughts flew away when my stomach took over. I had hoped to avoid this stage, but my stomach had other plans for me. And to spite me for hoping against nausea, my stomach decided to give nausea to me all day long. Pregnancy.
Two boys stand outside a dilapidated home. They talk in whispers about the old man who lives there, rumored to lure children into the house on Halloween with candy only to capture them and eat them. One of the boys does not believe the rumors, so the other dares him to knock on the house for candy on Halloween. He takes the dare, but only on the condition that they both go in the house. So they knock on the door. The old man answers and beckons them in for candy. They both go in, but only one comes out.
Ginger ale has become my new best friend. So have ginger snap cookies. Finally, I found something that helps even a little bit with my nausea. Peppermint made it so much worse. Dry foods like crackers and pretzels don't really do much for me. Since I started drinking ginger ale, I can actually tell when I'm hungry. The angry pit of my stomach isn't hiding my hunger pains anymore. So that's good. I hope it gets even better so I can concentrate on my writings and on housework. I have better things to do than curl into a tight ball.