little
cliché and very cheesy but he came with the place and just kind of
fits. On my own I could never afford a place like this. Luckily I
rent from family at a greatly reduced price in return for keeping
up with the maintenance of the place. I absolutely adore this home.
Pulling into the driveway, I park in the detached garage and follow
the slate stepping stones to the porch. The scent of star jasmine
fills the air and I make a quick mental note to water those pots in
the morning. They are the only green things besides the grass that
I’ve been able to keep alive, and I don’t want to jeopardize the
health of my only gardening success.
As I unlock the front door I realize I’ve
forgotten to pick up the mail. Dropping my purse on the entry table
I jog back down the driveway and empty the mailbox. Gauging by the
numerous handfuls of junk mail I pull out, it has been a few days
since I remembered to empty the thing. I pause by the trashcan next
to the garage and toss the undesirable catalogs and coupon ads
inside. Pushing through the front door a second time, I flip on the
lights and make a beeline for the kitchen, dropping my keys and a
stack of mail on the counter. I store my leftovers away in the
fridge, flip off the lights, and head down the hallway toward the
bedroom.
Mere steps from my destination my foot makes
contact with a soft bundle, catching long enough for me to lose my
balance. My arms shoot out in a desperate attempt to catch myself
and latch onto the only object in reach, the bedroom door-frame,
which prevents me from falling flat on my face, but does little to
cushion the impact of my body when it hits the wall.
“Damn it,” I mutter, reaching through the
bedroom door and turning on the lights. In the now illuminated
hallway, I see the offending pile of clothes I tripped over.
Growling I grab the bundle of clothes and throw them as hard as I
can in the direction of the laundry room. Feeling somewhat
vindicated, I stomp back toward the kitchen, collecting the shoe
that went flying during my ordeal, while muttering curses under my
breath the whole time.
The perfect end to the
perfect day , I think to myself as I hang
up my clothes. After removing my shirt, I am able to make a better
assessment of the damage done to my body, which becomes immediately
apparent when I glance in the full-length mirror. Curses on my fair
skin! There’s going to be a nasty bruise on my shoulder for sure.
Frazzled and testy, I put my shoes in their designated spot on the
shelf and throw my dirty clothes in the hamper at the back of the
closet. I grab a tank top and sweats from the bedroom dresser and
dress quickly. Pausing briefly on my way to the bathroom, I look at
the treadmill. The internal struggle being waged is clearly
reflected on my face. Knowing I could desperately use the
endorphins brought on from a long run gets weighed against my
mental exhaustion and the hallway beating I just took. Finally, my
mind capitulates and I proceed into the bathroom to brush my
teeth.
I try desperately not to let my mind wander
to thoughts of work, but I can’t. I find myself running through the
procedures we have been using to bring compound 253B to room
temperature and maintain stability. Once that’s done, we can look
into mass synthetic reproduction. Compound 253B seemed similar to
several other compounds we had successfully synthesized this year.
So, naturally, we applied the previously successful methods to
253B. Unfortunately, this compound is just different enough that it
hasn’t worked. Joe and I are probably going to have to start from
scratch tomorrow and find some way to attack the problem from a
different angle.
Exasperated, I lean over the sink and manage
to rinse out my toothbrush before throwing the thing across the
bathroom countertop in a fit of frustration. Laughing out loud at
my ridiculous behavior, I head back into the bedroom thinking maybe
I really should have gotten on the treadmill and ran a
cliché and very cheesy but he came with the place and just kind of
fits. On my own I could never afford a place like this. Luckily I
rent from family at a greatly reduced price in return for keeping
up with the maintenance of the place. I absolutely adore this home.
Pulling into the driveway, I park in the detached garage and follow
the slate stepping stones to the porch. The scent of star jasmine
fills the air and I make a quick mental note to water those pots in
the morning. They are the only green things besides the grass that
I’ve been able to keep alive, and I don’t want to jeopardize the
health of my only gardening success.
As I unlock the front door I realize I’ve
forgotten to pick up the mail. Dropping my purse on the entry table
I jog back down the driveway and empty the mailbox. Gauging by the
numerous handfuls of junk mail I pull out, it has been a few days
since I remembered to empty the thing. I pause by the trashcan next
to the garage and toss the undesirable catalogs and coupon ads
inside. Pushing through the front door a second time, I flip on the
lights and make a beeline for the kitchen, dropping my keys and a
stack of mail on the counter. I store my leftovers away in the
fridge, flip off the lights, and head down the hallway toward the
bedroom.
Mere steps from my destination my foot makes
contact with a soft bundle, catching long enough for me to lose my
balance. My arms shoot out in a desperate attempt to catch myself
and latch onto the only object in reach, the bedroom door-frame,
which prevents me from falling flat on my face, but does little to
cushion the impact of my body when it hits the wall.
“Damn it,” I mutter, reaching through the
bedroom door and turning on the lights. In the now illuminated
hallway, I see the offending pile of clothes I tripped over.
Growling I grab the bundle of clothes and throw them as hard as I
can in the direction of the laundry room. Feeling somewhat
vindicated, I stomp back toward the kitchen, collecting the shoe
that went flying during my ordeal, while muttering curses under my
breath the whole time.
The perfect end to the
perfect day , I think to myself as I hang
up my clothes. After removing my shirt, I am able to make a better
assessment of the damage done to my body, which becomes immediately
apparent when I glance in the full-length mirror. Curses on my fair
skin! There’s going to be a nasty bruise on my shoulder for sure.
Frazzled and testy, I put my shoes in their designated spot on the
shelf and throw my dirty clothes in the hamper at the back of the
closet. I grab a tank top and sweats from the bedroom dresser and
dress quickly. Pausing briefly on my way to the bathroom, I look at
the treadmill. The internal struggle being waged is clearly
reflected on my face. Knowing I could desperately use the
endorphins brought on from a long run gets weighed against my
mental exhaustion and the hallway beating I just took. Finally, my
mind capitulates and I proceed into the bathroom to brush my
teeth.
I try desperately not to let my mind wander
to thoughts of work, but I can’t. I find myself running through the
procedures we have been using to bring compound 253B to room
temperature and maintain stability. Once that’s done, we can look
into mass synthetic reproduction. Compound 253B seemed similar to
several other compounds we had successfully synthesized this year.
So, naturally, we applied the previously successful methods to
253B. Unfortunately, this compound is just different enough that it
hasn’t worked. Joe and I are probably going to have to start from
scratch tomorrow and find some way to attack the problem from a
different angle.
Exasperated, I lean over the sink and manage
to rinse out my toothbrush before throwing the thing across the
bathroom countertop in a fit of frustration. Laughing out loud at
my ridiculous behavior, I head back into the bedroom thinking maybe
I really should have gotten on the treadmill and ran a
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