I absolutely hate it when the bathroom doorknob is wet. In fact, I hate touching anything that's unexpectedly damp. Once after someone else's shower, I picked up the tube of toothpaste and found it soaked with condensation. It was like touching a dead slug.

I always dry my hands very thoroughly after washing them, because I don't like the feeling of lingering dampness. I don't like having to touch things with wet fingers. I take forever at the hand dryers in public washrooms—even the really useless ones, because they work eventually, if you're patient enough.

I always brush off my dishes and utensils with my fingers, before I use them. Sometimes I feel silly doing it. But sometimes I feel crumbs, and then all the satisfaction of validation. If I hadn't brushed it off, those crumbs would be in my food.

In the shower, I imagine I'm washing away all the crusty old thoughts and beliefs I don't need anymore. I tend to hold onto things, once I have them. So I make a point of trying to let go.

It's because I'm so good at avoiding things. I keep everything away from me. So when something gets in, I cling for dear life.

I'm a small pasty, bald, Irish guy that looks like the product of an unholy, biological-law-breaking union between Uncle Fester of the Addam's Family and Mr. Burns from the Simpsons. On a scale of 1-10, most people would say that I'm a C-. Already in my middle years, I fully expect that by the time I'm an old man I'll have to shop at the Big, Tall, and Hunchbacked store for clothes.

In terms of a personality? I have one. I guess. However, it's an open box, slightly irregular, analog, neon plaid, and batteries not included purchased at a shady flea market stall kind of personality.

Psychologically, I suffer from major depressive disorder, with manic tendencies which is interesting because I can't find, "Manic Tendencies" in the DSM-V. I guess my psychiatrist really thought I was special and deserved something customized! It was sweet of him, really. I also have PTSD related to domestic violence, social anxiety disorder, and was exposed to a buffet of illicit drugs in utero.

People think I'm eccentric when really, I'm a ball gag, straight jacket, and resides in a padded cell kind of psychotic. My delusions might be absurd and self-destructive, but they're a lot of fun!

I am a social worker with crippling social anxiety. I can be in a room with 3-4 people, but any more beyond that and I want to curl into the fetal position under the nearest bed.

I am a husband and father of 4. Really! No, they're not imaginary and I know this because if they were imaginary I'd have a lot more fucking money.

I can quote hard rock and heavy metal lyrics verbatim, but I know fuck all nothing about anything that qualifies as useful. Change a tire sew or replace a button on a shirt? Fuck no! Quote the lyrics to both versions of AC/DC's, "The Jack?" Fuck yes!

I was a Taco Bell restaurant manager for more than 10 years. Although it's been nearly 16 years since I worked there my sweat still smells like red sauce.

I hate reality television and country music. Honestly, prolonged exposure to either will likely result in a loss of a minimum of 10 IQ points and at least 1 child conceived with a first cousin.

I'm not into porn, but if there isn't a Golden Girls inspired porn series there should be!

The only addiction I never treated as a substance abuse counselor was addiction to Flintstones Chewable Vitamins. It's probably a good thing because I don't have a fucking clue how I would've responded to being told, "I used to do horrible, horrible things for a hand full of Bam-Bams."

Is there a Just Fans page with just fans? Do you have to pay more for variable speed or oscillating? I can imagine someone getting a little moist in the knickers after watching a black stainless steel oscillating fan with a chrome fan cover blowing on high.

I would rather have my ass lubricated with battery acid immediately followed by a prostate exam performed with a running, rusty chainsaw than be anywhere near a clown.

Why is someone mowing at 7am in the morning???

If that dog barks one more time...!!

I'll kill him if he runs late again

That guy looks dangerous...are my car doors locked?

You asked a polite question and here's my ten minute answer.

Sorry. Sorry. No I really am sorry.

Yes I do feel like it's my fault. Yes all the time. Sorry.

Sorry for saying sorry so much. Also my fault.

He has the bluest eyes - how dreamy...

What did that look mean at the dinner party last week? Is she mad at me? Did she take offence when I said green wasn't my colour. She was wearing a green hat. She probably hates me now.

Private number. Why do people use them? I'm not answering it. Leave a damn message.

Please stop spruiking your health smoothies on Facebook Debra. No one cares. Unfollow.

What's my ex from 10 years up to? Is his new partner prettier than me?

Don't overshare, don't overshare, don't overshare. 'Oh yeah I was at the doctor today for a pap smear'.

What does that look mean? Oh god, he doesn't think this is a date does he? Quick make an excuse and leave.

Why did you invite me over for dinner at five if you aren't serving it until nine-thirty. Get your shit together. No-one wants to eat that late. It's a school night.

Ooh let's send everyone a text, even though I haven't heard from them in two years, because I have a deadline. 'What are you up to these days, Titouan?'

Pancakes for dinner - because I had soup for breakfast and I'm a grownup so I can eat what I want.

Both pegs for each piece of clothing on the washing line must be the same colour if possible - it's not segregation, it's pegregation.

Dad jokes and bad puns

The inability to order a pizza other than Margherita without being disappointed

Pyjamas are the most comfortable clothes and I want to wear them all the time.

Don't surprise me. I hate it. I need to be emotionally and psychologically prepared to even see you, let alone be surprised.

Aggressively introverted. Loves parties

Listens to hypnosis on Spotify to try to solve all my problems. Mainly procrastination, lack of confidence, overthinking, negative self-talk.

Please like me

Have you ever heard of fear?

Of strangers' eyes bobbing from that blind spot over there.

Milky shadows that shift and follow.

A breath cut shor--

To match the gasp of a ghost

holding your hand without your consent.

The hairs on your arms standing tall, being touched

without a presence, just a hush.

Cold and cold then hot.

You forgot something.

Don't breathe.

Stop.

Tick Tick Tock.

It's not clean. Your soul. Your back. Your face.

Their judgments rattle the seats beneath

disgracedisgracedisgracedisgracedisgracedisgracedisgrace

The vehicle--its heavy metals--lose its tracks to a cliff

Nosediving

You are groundless

plummeting to the ends of a nightmare

where the bed cannot hold you.

And the floor cannot find you

Yet.

Faces

you can't look at,

tower over you the whole while.

In black and white and criss-crossed eyes

They watch,,,,,,

The vulnerability that you are

Something chases you

slowly.

Both fleshy and frothy

and unseen and

slowly.

It will reach you.

The question is when.

You anticipate it.

You anticipate it.

You anticipate it.

You anticipate it.

You anticipate it.

You anticipate it.

You anticipate it.

You anticipate it.

You anticipate it.

You anticipate it.

You anticipate it.

You anticipate it.

You anticipate it.

It anticipates you.

It cannot wait to get you.

A little more than hug you.

It hovers over your ear

with a whisper of a question:

Have you ever heard of fear?

Of course its not like any of that stuff is really there

?

The world feels broken these days. Every morning when I wake up, it's like staring into a shattered mirror, with cracks running through the reflection. The news is full of conflict, injustice, and human suffering on a mass scale. Sometimes it feels hopeless, like there's nothing I can do to make a difference.

But then I remember Grandma Rose's mirror. It was an antique, passed down through generations, with an ornate golden frame. One day, it slipped from my clumsy child hands and shattered into a thousand pieces on the hardwood floor.

I'll never forget the look on Grandma's face - not one of anger or disappointment, but of wisdom. She knelt down beside me as I cried over the shards of broken glass. "Why are you crying, my dear?" she asked gently. "The mirror is not gone. It is simply...changed."

She helped me gather the pieces carefully, wrapping them in a cloth. Over the next few weeks, she spent hours each day meticulously gluing the shards back together. When she was done, the mirror looked like a crazy abstract stained glass window, with cracks zig-zagging across its surface.

"There, you see?" she said, smiling at our masterpiece. "It's more beautiful than ever before. The cracks are a part of its story now, a map of all its broken places that have been rejoined. Those cracks make it unique."

Grandma kept that glued-together mirror for the rest of her days. And every time I look at the world's cracked reflection now, I think of her lesson. Yes, the world is broken in many ways - but that means there is immense potential for discovering new beauty in the shards, if we have the patience and resilience to remake it into something better.

You don't change the world by giving up or giving in to cynicism. You change it by seeing the cracks as an opportunity, not the end. By helping one person at a time. By being kind to your neighbor, and encouraging your community to do the same.

About a year ago, I decided to start volunteering at the local soup kitchen one day a week. I'll never forget the first time I served food to the long line of people, seeing the grateful smile on an elderly woman's face as she took the tray of hot stew from my hands. In that fleeting moment, I could see her humanity, her struggle, and her inherent worth as a person - not just another person experiencing homelessness and food insecurity. The smallest act of service was a reminder that even in a broken world, we can start re-assembling the shattered pieces through compassion.

Little by little, these acts of service and sacrifice can merge the fragments into something new, something more resilient than it was before. Whenever the weight of the world's suffering seems too much, I try to focus on making one piece of the mirror a little less broken, one person at a time.

My friend Ali started a neighborhood watch program in her community when crime became a major issue. She didn't stop there, though - she worked to connect young people who had gotten mixed up with gangs or drugs to counseling resources. Over the past few years, she has helped create a community support network that has given so many a second chance.

My co-worker Marcus started tutoring refugee children in English and math, knowing that education is the key to building a new life of opportunity in a new country, free from persecution.

These people aren't heroes, just ordinary folks who decided to stop waiting around for the world to fix itself. In their own way, they have become skilled craftspeople, carefully glueing together the shards of our shattered societies, creating something more resilient and beautiful in the process.

The cracks in the world's mirror will never fully disappear. There will always be a new hazard, a new injustice to face. But if we all commit to doing our part to address those shattered places with love and service, piece by piece, the masterpiece will only become more striking over time.

When times seem darkest, I imagine myself as a child again, sitting next to Grandma Rose as she patiently reassembles that broken mirror. I hear her words of wisdom echoing through the years: "These cracks are a part of its story now...These cracks make you unique." These cracks are part of a larger whole. I hear my grandmother's soothing voice, reminding me that I can always restart my day....

There's nothing I feel for in this day that could make up for the time life has spent wasting me away.

There's a door right next to me that I don't feel like walking through, just to try and fail at fixing a world that few set out to do. So few it becomes an impossibility; a sacred mural of hope only an artist can try to seek until their little clouds rain over their work, reminding us daily that we are weak. But without their colourful sounds of hope and imaginings of what its like to have peace, the vast majority of the crowd mentality will wither so completely, 'till money becomes the only thing reminding the earth of the toxic litterings that was once humanity. And that time they spent striving for the very green-coloured garbage they created and not the hearts of the Smiles hoping the world can become a better place, is such a waste.

Until then, I'd rather sit here behind this door and write out my hopes to someone out there who's actually awake.

What it takes,

What it takes.

What it takes!

WHAT IT TAKES!!!

Everything wants to take from you. Rob you of your riches and rewards.

Cover the face of your work with their traps and contracts

and rip your dreams right -w-r-i-t-e- out of your head.

What they take from you is your all. All the days you spent slaving for the takers, when all you want is to be a giver, to give to those who haven't yet learnt how to take back their stolen lives from these greed-filled takers who rake every drop of sweat from your bones and leave you to pay the price of your medication and casts.

Watch each bill leave your fingers as, you--now made cripple--hobble back to your desk to feed dreams out your pen to give back to the thieves who break souls to no end, so take, TAKE it all away.

Because at the end of the day,

The dreamers and believers

Will find a freakin' way.

Dear Dick,

I hope this letter finds you in a state of literary grace and grammatical correctness. It is with a heavy heart and a dictionary of synonyms that I tender my resignation from my position as Chief Wordsmith Extraordinaire, effective immediately.

Please understand that this decision was not reached lightly. It’s just that after spending countless hours crafting metaphors, similes, and puns, I’ve come to the conclusion that my true calling lies in the lucrative world of competitive Scrabble. I feel that my talents are better suited to arranging tiles on a board than rearranging words in a document.

I will fondly remember the days spent debating the Oxford comma, arguing over the pronunciation of “gif,” and trying to sneak “onomatopoeia” into every memo. However, my ambitions now lie beyond the confines of this office, where the only punctuation I’ll be worrying about is whether or not the triple word score was worth sacrificing all my vowels.

I assure you, this decision is not a reflection of the stimulating workplace environment or the copious amounts of coffee provided. It’s simply that I’ve grown tired of searching for the perfect synonym for “exhausted” and yearn for a challenge that involves more than just battling writer’s block.

I appreciate the opportunities for growth and creativity that this position has afforded me, and I will always cherish the memories of our team’s literary shenanigans. Please know that I leave with the utmost respect for you and the entire team, and I wish everyone continued success in all their future endeavors.

Thank you for your understanding, and may the pen forever be mightier than the sword (unless we’re playing Scrabble).

Yours literarily,

Mamba

She was born of the dragon

With that glint in her eye

A spirit of iron

Chin always held high

From the time she was birthed

We followed her 'round

A leader so natural

We subjects were bound

Her body was tiny

Her muscles were frail

The tissues oft failed her

The pain made her pale

And yet - she's a dragon

She won't be kept down

Her body might protest

But her mind wears a crown

She's smart as a whip

And quick as a dart

The fire in her words

Might just tear you apart

She's bold and she's fierce

She brave and she's kind

She loves without fear

A mercurial mind

She can't stand a bully

She sides with the meek

Her small knees might tremble

But the truth she will speak

For a dragon she is

Though her body is small

When no-one believes

She's still standing tall

Too clever to trick

Too stubborn to break

She always gives more

Than she deigns to take

She's born of the dragon

She's touched by the fire

And as long as she loves you

You're safe from her ire.

“Have you seen the new boy Toby yet?”

I looked at my sister across the lunch table. “No,” I said. I was lying, trying to get out of the conversation and leave lunch as fast as I could. I had seen the new boy. We had 1st period together, but I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of asking me 20 questions.

“He’s so hot. I wonder if he has a girlfriend. Do you think he has one?” she asked as he walked by us.

I mentally rolled my eyes. My sister, Varissa was so boy-crazy that all the boys she knew/met she was interested in. “I don't know, Rissa. He is kind of cute, I guess. I mean, in a dumb jock way.”

She gave me a look. “You're not stealing my boyfriend,” she said sarcastically.

“He’s not your boyfriend, Rissa,” I pointed out.

“He will be my boyfriend.” she protested.

I made a noise. “Whatever you say. When you get your heart broken, I told you so.” She got up and went to class, leaving me behind at the table.

I stood up and tried to catch up to her, but the swarm of kids was too much, and I bumped into somebody and fell. Someone caught me before I hit the floor, and I looked up to thank my savior. It was the new boy.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded, trying to regain my balance.“What’s your name?” I ask him.

“Toby. What’s your name?” he asks, letting me go.

“Freya.”

“That's a pretty name for a pretty girl,” he said. I rolled my eyes. “Do you wanna hang out?” he asked. I gave him a look that suggested he was going a little fast for my comfort, and he laughed. “I need help on my homework, Freya. When can you come over?” he asked.

“That’s sudden Toby. As long as you don't do anything stupid, and ALL we are doing is studying”

“I won’t.”

The bell rang, and I grabbed my stuff out of my locker, Toby beside me. “Maybe Saturday,” I said, and he gave me his number, not asking for mine. I went to my car, and Toby left, the conversation over. I got into my car and turned my music on and since Rissa went home with a friend, the sound of Jessie Murph filled the car, nothing like the music she listened to, which she made me listen to every time she rode with me. I started to sing along and pulled onto the highway.

When I got home, I opened the door, and my mom was asleep on the couch. I grabbed a blanket and threw it over her. I went to my room and started my homework.

Someone Facetimed me, from a number I didn't know.

“Hello?” I asked.

It was Toby. He grinned at me.

“I didn't give you my number Toby,” I said, annoyed.

“I know,” he said. “One of your friends gave it to me.”

I rolled my eyes, and he smirked.

“What do you want, Toby?” I asked.

“I want to be your friend.”

“Huh?” I asked. I was so confused, that I hung up, worried he was playing a prank on me.

He didn't text back right away. I was lying in my bed, watching TV. I had just taken a shower, and my hair was wet when he FaceTimed me, and I answered it.

“Did you just get out of the shower?” he asked when I answered.

“Um….yeah,” I said.

“Your hair is pretty when it’s wet,” he said. “Not to be weird, but it shimmers when it’s wet.”

“Thank you. Are you here to annoy me? If so, just call my sister. She likes you.”

“Well, I’m not. The whole point of me calling you is so you know I don't like your sister,” he said

“Why would I care?”

“Because you like me,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “You annoy me, Toby.” I hung up.

He texted me seconds later.

Proves I'm right.

Does not.

He didn’t text back.

***

The next day, he avoided me. Even though I hated what he said, I couldn't help but stare at him during the first period. Every once in a while, he would look at me and smile, then I wouldn't look for twenty minutes. But, I could feel his eyes on me. When the bell rang, I stayed away from him and ensured I didn't fall again. When I made it home, I had a new message from Toby.

Let's talk about yesterday.

What is there to talk about??

I just wanted to apologize for my behavior towards you the other day. It’s okay. I said some pretty rude stuff.

What I said was worse...I accused you of liking me. If you don't, that's fine.

It’s fine.

I lay back in my bed thinking about him, when Rissa came into my room, crying.

“What’s wrong, Riss?” I asked as she threw herself onto my bed.

“Toby doesn't like me!!” she said, covering her head with my blanket. “He likes this other girl he’s been talking to!” she sobbed. “D-Do you kn-know wh-who it is?” she asked, looking at me with swollen eyes.

I shook my head and rubbed her shoulders. Toby could be talking to anyone, it doesn't have to be me, I thought to myself. My phone dinged. It was a message from Toby, of all people.

Where did you go???

I told your sister I didn't like her.

“Who is that?” she asked when I sighed and rolled my eyes.

“Nobody,” I said.

“Let me see,” she protested. She grabbed my phone and gasped when she saw the messages.

“Freya,” she said, looking at me in disbelief.

“It’s not what it looks like, Rissa. He started texting me first.”

“You knew I liked him, and you texted him anyway! I can't even trust my sister. You went behind my back and texted my crush, Freya.”

“I didn’t know he liked me okay!? I don’t want him to like me! I don't like him.”

“The blush on your cheeks and the fact you're trying to defend yourself proves you do, Freya. I am never talking to you again!” she ran out of my room, slamming the door. I texted Toby back as soon as the door to Varissa’s room closed with a snap.

Guess who’s mad at me because of YOU.

Varissa?

YES.

Well, she’s just jealous.

I didn't text him back. I couldn't stand to talk to anyone, I was so angry at myself, for falling for a guy I barely met, AND who was my sister’s crush, Toby, for being irresistible, and for making things worse between me and Riss and Rissa, for overreacting about this. It took me three days to text him back after that conversation, but before that, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He texted me before class ended three days later.

I apologize for any problems I caused between you and Rissa. It was not my intention. Please forgive my mistake. I will try my best to make things right and ensure this does not happen again.

I forgive you, I just don't understand who else you would like if not her.

Isn’t it obvious?

No…..

I like you, Freya.

Oh…….I can’t. It would make Rissa hate me even more.

Who cares? Will you go out with me?

Let me think about it.

Take all the time you need.

*** TWO WEEKS LATER

Are you ready?

I’ll be right out.

If you can probably guess…Toby and I are together. My sister still doesn't know, and we have been spending a lot of time together, “studying” as you would call it, under her very watchful eye.

She doesn't talk to me much anymore, and she cries more than ever. Her friends all give me bad looks when I walk by them. Toby tells me she will get over it eventually.

I walk out the door, and he whistles. “You realize we're just going to see my brother? You don't have to get all dressed up. You're pretty anyway.” I smiled. He opened the car door for me, and we drove to his brother’s house. His brother fist-bumped Toby and hugged me. I stepped back to give his brother a good look and tried to hide my blush, so Toby didn’t see it. I think his brother saw it, though, because he winked at me when Toby had his back to us, walking up the stairs. We made it into his living room, and Toby’s hand brushed mine. I looked at him and he smiled. “Freya, this is my brother Jonathan. Jonathan, this is Freya.”

I shook Jonathan’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He nodded and shook it back. “You too.”

Jonathan offered us a seat on the couch. I took a seat on one side of him, and Toby took the other. Jonathan asked us what we wanted to watch on Netflix, and we all agreed on The Fault in Our Stars. We sat back to watch it, and when it was done, we sat and talked about anything we could think of, laughing at the funny bits. When I was breathless and red three hours later, Toby decided we should go. Jonathan hugged us both before we left, slipping something into my jacket pocket. I waited until I was locked in my room to open it. It was a note.

Freya,

I wanted you to have my number, in case you needed it.

Jonathan

His number was underneath that. I programmed his number in and threw the note away. Toby called, and I answered it. We talked for a few hours, and he fell asleep. I stayed on the phone with him, until I fell asleep. I woke up the next morning with a text from Rissa.

Get down here now, there's someone here to see you.

Okay.

I got up and rushed down the stairs. I heard voices in the living room, so I went there. Toby and my parents were sitting on the couches, along with Rissa. Toby stood up and grabbed my arm. “We need to talk, in private.” I nodded, and we went upstairs to my room, my parents giving me sympathetic looks, Rissa looking mad. I closed the door to my room, and he told me to sit down.

“I’m breaking up with you,” he said. I looked at him, surprised. “We’re not working. I don't feel the spark anymore, and I would rather you be happy than suffer.” I stared at him in shock. I shook my head in disbelief, and tears started running down my face.

“What do you mean, Toby?” I asked.

“I saw the way you looked at my brother yesterday, Freya. You never looked at me like that, and I realized that when I saw him look at you the same way. You love him. Maybe more than you ever loved me. But, it’s okay, because I’ve moved on. I want to be your friend though, and I think that we’ll be really good friends. Maybe better than when we were in a relationship. I still love you though, and I know enough about loving someone to let you go.”

He stood up and left, closing the door behind him. I cried for a few hours, and I didn’t come out of my room for a few days. I woke up Friday morning, grabbed my phone off my nightstand, and texted Jonathan.

I need your help.

Anything. What’s wrong?

How he knew who it was, I don't know.

I need to get out of the house. I need something to keep me from being sad. Your brother hurt me, and I need someone/something to pull me out into the light.

I understand. I’m here for you Freya.

I’m on my way, I’ll be there in 10 minutes.

I’ll be ready when you get here.

I got out of bed, changed my clothes, brushed my hair, got my keys, and got in my car. The drive to Jonathan’s house was shorter than expected, and he was waiting for me when I got out of the car. We went in, and it looked different from the last time I had seen it. It looked like he had taken everything off the walls. “I removed every picture that Toby was in…I didn’t want you to get upset. I want you to be comfortable here.”

I looked up into his eyes. “I didn't have anywhere else to go.” He nodded. I sat on the couch, he sat in a chair.

“What do you wanna do?” he asked.

“Can we just talk?” I asked.

“Of course. This relationship needs to be based on trust.” he looked at me, his eyes asking the question that his mouth didn’t.

“I’m not ready to be in a serious relationship, Jonathan. At least, not yet, not right now. Not after Toby. Toby hurt me, and that will take a while to get over. I wanted you to know that, before you got your hopes up, and then got disappointed. Maybe, let’s start slow. ” I looked at him, eyes burning. Tears started slipping down my cheeks, and he instantly reached up to wipe them away.

He forced me to look into his eyes. “Freya, look at me. I can wait as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere, at least, if you don't want me to.”

He moved to the couch beside me, and I moved closer to him. “I don't,” I said.

He sighed in relief. “Can I hold you?” he asked hesitantly.

I nodded, and he sighed again, wrapping his arms around me. I put my head on his chest, and we continued talking. I think I fell asleep like that, to the sound of his voice, his arms around me, the problem with Toby and my sister long forgotten.