Tonight we're making borscht. 
Peel the beets and grate them up, and throw them in a pot, over there. There's potatoes in water so they don't brown because we cut them up already. Prep work is best not slept (on) work.
Someone put that in a cookbook.
...

We called it meadowpunk and we were happy. It gave us ideas for next Renfest.

We came second in trivia that night.

They had festbier, the first time in three weeks, and it was as good as we remembered. Such a yardstick to measure against, and such a victory to behold it...

There’s time to take a little break.

To make a cup, take it with cake.

There’s time to breathe a little deeper.

To sit and smile, still as the reaper.

There’s time today, and come what may.

Your time well spent’s another’s waste.

I don't mean this to be an incendiary topic, but I wonder if this view or the opposing one is felt with any passion by anyone here.
There's a monumental question, in determining your path forward, in what you choose to use as your North Star. Your guiding principle,...

It was pity, I later decided. 
It was a wonder that their tattered ball didn't disintegrate at each pass, each kick. They could have easily mended it, I mused, judging by the scraps of clothes already at hand presently dangling limply from their emaciated frames.
I often watched during my work breaks....

There was a coffee pot we both once poured from. It knew each our mugs fondly, despite their births from home-kiln. Turn was never taken to fill, the task handled itself. 
Soil as rich as freshly-ground wove together the idylls we procured from this farm. It rained each day...

Play it where it lies, the coach told his students. What kind of a class is golf, they thought before signing up for a free credit. They paid $2,500 to walk through grass, with some distraction. They got more exercise than most of their gym memberships from that class. Some...

It seems there was once a time where we all know, can even agree on and join together in remembrance, that's completely devoid of the past, the facts. Perhaps it is the case that there are such things as past facts, as well, but that's a topic for another time....

The ruinous resentment Rebels bellyache the present Like they ran a taste for weapons Edges slashing through the air
Until you feel a taste of life And listen, open up your sight Before your mind appears a sprite Another land you've seldom dreamed
Can a man be truly...

"You got enough of me today."
I close my laptop. A weight I had previously not recognized lifts off of my chest. My lungs taste air for the first time in hours. 

I look outside. It's dark out. My home becomes an illuminated crib staving off the box of nighttime's...