Ponies in hand.

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Weekend in paragraph form.

Emily chopped off my hair! (I asked her to.) It looks pretty dang cute, if I’m allowed to say so. Emily also turned 21 this weekend, and to celebrate we drank some homemade Cherry Bounce with our grandma and watched a bad 90’s teen movie with the gang in our grand tradition of watching bad teen movies (or sometimes GOOD teen movies. Aquamarine, anyone?). Emily, if you read this, I’m so happy I got to be home for your birthday! On another day, Holly and I played our old Art Table set for the first time in 10 months. I developed a pretty ferocious blister on my baby-soft right hand, but my drumming was surprisingly all right, considering how long it had been. Not that I’ve ever been a “good” drummer, but I was as consistently mediocre as ever. We also wrote a new song, which we may release on an EP so I won’t spoil it for you, but let’s just say that the Art Table’s demise has never been more fun. I had my car fixed. It was very loud and now it is very quiet, and it’s also very clean, inside and out (my dad and I did that, not the mechanics). I went to church this morning but with all of the rain my head was in a little bit of a cloud throughout the service. Tomorrow evening I start my psychology class, which maybe I haven’t mentioned here yet, I’m not sure. The collaborative comic project is also beginning to take legs, and I’m officially moving it up on the list of priorities. What all of this means is that I’ll probably be writing even less in this blog than I have been already. Maybe I’ll surprise all of us and update it with regularity, but I’m pretty sure June is going to be consumed with other things. But what will June consume?

Rapunzel, you jealous fool.

I had my first jealous dream last night. I’m actually surprised it took as long as it did to creep into my subconscious, but it found its way. It made me feel really crappy, and came along at a time that I was already beginning to question my ability to sustain a normal human relationship, so that was cool. A friend and I used to debate whether or not jealousy is a sin. I tried to make the case that it isn’t, but Galatians 5:19 makes it pretty clear: “The acts of the sinful nature are obvious… hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage…” Fortunately I’ve kept my fits of rage to a minimum, but as for jealousy, it creeps up now and again. I tried to argue that jealousy can be justified, and I still think it can, but I guess there is also something very stubborn and self-interested about it. I guess it’s easier to look at it from the reverse angle–is there such a thing as healthy jealousy? Jealousy that makes you feel good? The answer to that pretty much has to be no. And I’d gladly agree to never have another jealous dream again in my life, but unfortunately I don’t have too much control over my subconscious (never quite figured out that lucid dreaming trick).

Writer friends: should my punctuation go inside or outside of the parentheses? If it boils down to a matter of preference, I think I prefer to keep it outside if the parenthetical is contained within a larger sentence, (like this). Or keep it inside if the parenthetical is a self-supporting, don’t-need-no-man-to-make-me -complete, single mother kind of sentence. (Like this.) What are the rules?

I need a haircut pretty badly, but I’ve been holding out until it’s long enough that I can donate it to Locks of Love. I’ve had it in the back of my head to do this for a few years now, but this time I’ve finally let it get to the length that it needs to be, and not a moment too soon. However, today one of my friends tipped me off to the fact that Locks of Love is actually overwhelmed with hair donations, and that much of the hair donated doesn’t get used to make wigs for children after all. I said, “No way! Hilary Swank donated her hair to Locks of Love right on the Oprah show, it must be legit!” She sent me this article. So it seems that Locks of Love, still a really wonderful organization, may very well throw my ten inches of hair into the waste bin, or, since it’s pretty healthy, might sell it to a wig company to cover their expenses. So, big whoop, I guess. If they want to sell it, why not? It will still make slightly more difference than sweeping it into the compost. I think, though, that after reading that article I will donate to Pantene Beautiful Lengths instead. Which, upon visiting the website, is actually the organization that Hilary donated her hair to. My mistake.

Waxing and waning, and generally waiting.

I must have gotten into a pretty comfortable routine, because I never seem to have much to write about anymore. Just now I almost wrote an entire post about how much I love my bathroom, because it is 100 degrees at any given time (but maybe you knew that already?). Maybe what this tells me is that I ought to be working on my supposed novel, or turning out a few short stories, or at the very least spending some time writing a poem or two. Poems are the easy ones, right? Take a look it’s in a book, you little crook.

Poems aren’t that easy, I guess. I manage to write about two or three poems a year, and I’d say they take a lot more work than my average blog post. Or maybe that’s not true. I wrote my best (or at least my personal favorite) about a year ago, maybe you read it in that old blog of mine:

There is a woman who listens and a woman who speaks.
Seldom do these two women meet.
Seldom they sever; their discourse is never
too clever
if ever they discourse at all.

This source of life has no remorse for strife inflicted by the fall.
We are all, each one of us, a knife plunged deeply in the wherewithal.

Celeste! Celeste! This is your quest, can you find meaning in it all?

I like to go back and reread some of my old blogs, as I’m sure most bloggers would admit to, and usually I like to go back and check where I was a year ago today. It’s a little bit harder for me to do that at this point, because a year ago these days I was so hopeful, so giddy and falling. The small quantity of writings from this time period last year attest to that, how absorbed I was becoming in something new, something nice. It’s difficult to read the words of someone who has no idea how much things will change. My how cryptic I can be when the mood strikes me! This has little to do with the approaching Valentine’s Day, I swear.

Oh, it’s Superficial Monday, isn’t it? (I always forget about Superficial Monday.) Well, here, I am thinking about cutting my hair. It is almost that time. Tufts of silken hair, wafting gently to the tile floor, collecting ’round two pairs of ankles, shorn, but never scorned.

Good grief. I can really miss you.

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    Breena Wiederhoeft
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