I’m stretched out in the back seat of the car idly playing with a Rubik’s Cube while Myra drives around looking for a non-chain restaurant where we can have lunch. So far we’ve passed over twenty different fast food joints and chain restaurants with nary a mom’n’pop in sight. I think it would be interesting to sit at the bar at Ruby Tuesdays or ( Read more... )

When I was a little kid I got a gyroscope for Christmas. The packaging said it was a “magic levitating” gyroscope, and once you got the gyroscope spinning between the two magnets you could carefully remove the base and for a couple of seconds it would magically levitate. For an eleven year old boy at Christmas, this was only fascinating enough to ( Read more... )

Writing goes on hiatus until I get back from The New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.

Myra is probably one of the smartest people I know. She has a fantastic range of knowledge spanning everything from classical music to quantum physics, and she can hold her own in any conversation she might find herself involved in. I remember a long time ago, well before we were dating, getting into a discussion with her about the nature of ( Read more... )

One day when I was six years old I got on a school bus and attended my first day of kindergarten. When I was eight, I put on a blue uniform and attended my first day of cub scouts. When I was fifteen, I kissed a girl for the first time ( Read more... )

Myra’s slumped up against the steering wheel crying, and I don’t know what to do. I put my hand on her shoulder to rub her back, and she unbuckles her seat belt and leans over to hug me. I quickly try to unbuckle myself as well, but I fumble with the release and it takes me a second to hug her back. It’s an awkward hug, but when you’re both sitting ( Read more... )

We’ve been riding in silence for an hour and a half now, and I’ve been mentally cataloging all the various ways Myra has fucked me up. I know this is a dangerous game, strapped to our seats inches apart and hurling down the road at 70 mph, but I can’t help fiddling with the fuse ( Read more... )

Okay, so you've noticed that every day these past four days I've written a short little story about a girl named Myra. I don't know exactly how it started, but I wanted to start a project where I sat down and wrote a little bit every day. I used to write constantly, but lately I've felt that I haven't had the time. The purpose for this is to get me ( Read more... )

Myra looks like a Myra. I won’t even bother describing her, because you can imagine yourself what a Myra looks like. The name evokes purple swirls, dark and strangely exotic. So does Myra ( Read more... )

When I go up to the register to pay for our gas, I notice the attendant is staring out the window at Myra, checking her out. There’s really no reason for this to annoy me, but it does anyway. She’s leaning over the hood washing the bugs off the windshield, smiling to herself. Part of me thinks she knows the attendant is watching her and that just ( Read more... )