ReDecorated

I paused in the doorway, doing a double take. This...was not my house. 
I leaned back to look at the number on the side. 2303...
It was my house..
But it wasn't my house.
I frowned, stepping in side. 
"Sweetheart?" I called out as I studied the room. The furniture, the walls, even the flooring! It didn't look right. This wasn't right. Had I walked into an alternate dimension? Because this was not my home. 

-Inspiration from the breakroom being repainted/redecorated at work

Origins: Cue Silence

I leaned against the wall of my apartment, listening to the roar of the movie playing in the apartment below me. The bass of the music, shaking my wall with muted thunder. I gritted my teeth, closing my eyes. Focusing. Picturing the TV below me. I breathed in and slowly breathed out, holding my hand out and twisting it like I was twisting a dial. 
And the sound faded. To blessed quiet. I could no longer hear. 
For only a moment. I heard cries of confusion below me. 
And the volume quickly returned to normal.
I exhaled, holding my hand out again. Turning down the volume for them. If they wouldn't take the hint, I would forcefully turn off the TV for them. Not everyone in the complex wants to hear their movie. 

If I Ever -Management

If I Ever become a Manager.

I'm going to try and make sure that everyone feels worthwhile in the store. That their opinions matter, that their concerns matter, that their explanations are believed. 
Because there's nothing more frustrating than to be constantly told that things aren't improving.
Yet there seems to be no effort made to improve it.

I mean, if you're put under a timeline deadline to get things done by.
And those things are still not getting done.
That's when I'd talk to the person, try and figure out a different solution. Find a way to make everything work within the boundaries set. 

Because I'd rather work with people and keep them happy and figure out things....
Instead of haranguing them to the point of them deciding it's not worth the critiques anymore and quitting on us. 

That just leaves us in worst straights....

The Hair Piece

Cinder winced as she felt a crunch like the breaking of glass under her foot. Reluctantly lifting her dress to see what she'd stepped on, she grimaced at the little metallic centipede now in three pieces, the links holding it together shattered.
This would make the fourth trip to the Hair Dresser in a month! "Jules!" She moaned. They didn't have the money to keep fixing these things! "How many times have I told you to not just drop your hair clips onto the floor to crawl around?!"
Jules peered up over her book, her seven-year-old eyes glinting too much like a demons as she pouted. "But they don't like being cooped up in a box or my hair all day, Cinder! They want to play!"
Cinder rolled her eyes. "I don't think they want to be stepped on either, Jules." She replied with exasperation as she picked up the mini broken Canic. It wasn't like the Canics could actually think. They just did what they were created to do. Like hold Jules' hair out of her eyes.

-Inspiration from helping a friend figure out steampunk elements in their own story.   

Tired Mostly

Had a slight headache develop.
Most likely from not enough sleep.
And the fact that the earpiece to my work's walkie-talkies was being rather irritating. Putting too much uncomfortable pressure on my ear which in turn tensed up my neck and shoulders. 

Thankfully, a quick nap, some Excedrin and a heat pack when I got home made it go away.

Me: Alright, time to sit down for some good old wri--
Brain: LOOK AT THIS! LOOK AT THIS!! THEY USED OUR IDEA!!! IT'S AMAZING!
Me: Yes...but writing?
Brain: Look LOOK LOOK!! It's SO COOL!! 
Me: *gets totally distracted*

Brain: Let's write four stories at the same time!
Me: ...That's not possible.
Brain: Sure it is! Look. we'll just switch between them at time intervals and we'll get all the writing done!
Me: O.o ....you think that's actually going to work?
Brain: Yes. 
Me: Alright. Let's try it.