Week in Seven Words #526

This covers the week of 2/16/20 - 2/22/20.

admirable

She's productive, patient, organized, and kindly, intelligent without being arrogant, a good teacher overall.

assenting

They keep cutting into each other's speech, and their voices are getting louder, so it seems at first like they're working themselves into a fight. But they're in agreement. They're vigorously, almost rabidly, agreeing with each other about a set of political beliefs. Around them, the other coffee shop customers keep their eyes fixed on phones and laptops.

burrowing

In a neighborhood that's otherwise cold and dingy, the library is a warm nook.

ciao

We part ways sweetly on a dark street.

conversing

We curl up side by side for a long conversation.

lackluster

A cheesy cartoon, crude jokes, and stilted conversation.

quarrel

Sobs, slammed doors, the seeming hopelessness of a fight with a good friend. Chances are that half an hour from now, they'll be on speaking terms again.

Week in Seven Words #322

austere
The immaculate bareness of a garden with its gates closed.

clattering
"Please, no quarters," the cashier says. "A lady came in this morning and paid me 56 dollars in quarters."

larynx
They dial up the excitement in a game of Twister by trying to put each other in chokeholds.

smoother
I keep thinking this is going to be an awkward, painful conversation, made more uncomfortable by the fact that it's over the phone - not face-to-face or by email, which is what I prefer. But it goes well. There are no leaden, sinking silences.

striven
Reaching a private, hard-won milestone that gives me hope.

thumb
It hits me that I don't look like anyone in the room. Superficially, I could say I have the same hair color or skin color as most of them. But I couldn't blend in if I tried. One after the other, hair, clothes, gestures, unblemished sameness, and I'm amazed and a little afraid sitting there sticking out.

tints
Colors creep into a brisk, cold landscape. The shades of blue in the reservoir, the green tint to the gray plants by the wayside that hold out for warmer weather.

Week in Seven Words #141

fallback
When I go somewhere new and don't know anybody, instead of hanging around awkwardly with my drink and thinking about who I should approach and whether anyone will approach me, I try to find a bookcase; then I can half-browse for books, half-scope out the room without feeling like a spotlight is on me.

inhale
When shouting/singing/dancing/whirling people pour into the room and fill it wall-to-wall, I slip outside for a breather.

pinched
Why are so many educators humorless? When they make jokes they look pained and nervous, as if they've colored outside the lines and won't get a sticker for their work.

plastron
As he lectures us in a nasal voice, admitting no interruptions, he reminds me of a tortoise. A pedantic tortoise in an pea green coat. Thinking about him this way makes him more human to me.

pretenses
Passive-aggressive silence is more effective, and obnoxious, than an explicit renunciation.

steep
The Prayer for Rain permeates us.

thawing
At last the heat is on, and the floor no longer feels like permafrost.

Week in Seven Words #36

cerulean
The sky is a crisp blue, the air is clear and cool, leaves crackle across the cobbled paths; I sit on a low stone ledge with a notebook on my lap and a mind full of contented thoughts.

crumble
He holds my idea like a leaf between his forefinger and thumb and lifts it up to the light. It looks papery and dry. He rubs his fingers together, and it disintegrates slowly.

delay
Life can feel like a game of Tetris; if I get too distracted or take too long dealing with any one thing, every obligation, burden, assignment, and duty just piles up in weird insurmountable towers.

lighten
It's worth it, to put the book aside, the article, whatever it is that's due soon and demanding time, and just sit and talk to good people; one of them in particular, known mainly for his jokes, shares a beautiful serious story with me.

morose
Autumn mutters to herself and shakes raindrops out of her rags.

nocturnal
I wake up in the middle of the night, strangely keyed up and unwilling to turn over and try to sleep again. Like a mouse scrabbling around in the dark, fixing up her nest, I spend a couple of hours sorting the piles of paper on and around my desk, slotting them into folders, drawers and piles, throwing some out, tidying them into short neat stacks.

styrofoam
As the silence stretches on, I feel the need to supply conversational filler. It's like stuffing styrofoam chips into a shipping box; if I leave too much space unfilled, the fragile object inside will break.