A Psalm of Life

This is not one that I could ever take credit for writing. It is in fact, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's and it is beyond beautiful.

What the heart of the young man said to the psalmist:

Tell me not in mournful numbers
life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers
and things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art--to dust returnest"
was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment and not sorrow,
is our destined end or way;
But to act that each tomorrow
finds us farther than today.

Art is long and time is fleeting,
and our hearts, though stout and brave,
still, like muffled dreams are beating
funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
in the bivouac of life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no future however pleasant!
Let the dead past bury its dead!
Act! Act in the living present!
Heart within and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
we can make our lives sublime,
and departing, leave behind us
footprints in the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
sailing o'er lives solemn main,
a forlorn, and a shipwrecked brother,
seeing shall take heart again.

Let us then, be up and doing,
with a heart for any fate;
still achieving, still pursuing,
learn to labor and to wait.

Wowsers, if that's not beautiful I don't know what is. Life isn't always easy or fair or simple or fun, but the point of life is to improve every day--to DO SOMETHING, to step forward and be the person I always dreamed I could be. Sometimes I feel like a spectator in my own life; someone watching by as I react to what happens around me. No more, world. Here I come--soul unfettered at last. Time for the big guns. I'm sick of waiting for perfect circumstances to announce themselves and ask me to accompany them. It is time for me to make the circumstances ideal and see how the darts fly. Well maybe not darts, maybe more like potato chips or birds or something else soft that doesn't have the tendency to injure people when wielded by someone with no semblance of control or dexterity. Plastic dartboard here I come!

Hope can be such a turncoat. Luckily chocolate is a much steadier friend. : )

Curly Hair

First of all, I love my hair. I love that I can hop out of the shower (or drag myself out of the shower, depending on how early I have to get up), stick some goup in it, give it a quick shake and be ready for the day. Done and done. Thirty eight seconds is an acceptable time for hair styling, thank you very much. Granted, the mousy washed out not quite brown color I'm not totally crazy about, but give me a beauty school and I can lighten it up without a huge hit to my bank account and I'm a happy kid again. Hair is great, especially when you don't have to worry about it. I do feel it my civic duty, however, to warn any curly headed girls out there that when they say naturally curly hair needs length to keep it tame, they aren't joking. Short curly hair quickly turns into a tangled bush perched atop your head. Goup, spray, crimp, and moose do very little to tame the wild look and soon you are left with what one can only call a mess on top of your head. The nice thing about hair, of course, is that it grows even when the length is bad. Unfortunately for curly haired individuals, the growth is stunted by the fact that it has to grow horizontally in constricting circles as it grows down, however grow it shall.

There are of course advantages to the wild tresses exploding out of your scalp. Trying to hide a zit on the side of your face, for instance, is much easier when one has a haze of curls blocking the view. It is also an exciting look, guaranteed to attract attention if that is your thing. People may go so far as to stare at you wondering, "did she really do that on purpose? Does she know how big her head looks with that style?" and you can smile to yourself knowing you are the subject of curiosity and mild disbelief. It's also useful for hiding things in. Not quite as firm as a fro but should you need to stick an extra pencil or even a small cookie somewhere for later, thick, tangled curly messes make great storage centers as well.

All the same, if I had to do it again I think I would keep the length. Just saying is all.

Villan

Gah! Again? Really? I'm indescribably sick of being the bad guy. I don't even know what I'm doing, but somehow again I unwittingly manage to transform from a timid starving student with virtually no experience in drama or heartbreak into a heartless storm of malicious contempt for the feelings of those I care about. I know everyone says it isn't my fault but if it isn't my fault why does it keep happening? I am the common variable. Does naive inexperience always transform into inadvertent sadism? Where is the stupid handbook? Boys for dummies. Someone needs to write that one. Gah. Time for chocolate. Times like this I remember why I don't get involved. I promise I'm not trying to be a heartless creep, it's just who I am. I'm working on it. Really. I am. I know in the back of my head (maybe the frontal lobe?) that everything will be fine. That everything IS fine and that I need to just wait out the storm. Again. Still, this whole scene is definitely getting old. Blah. It's okay though. Really. Everything will be alright. Here we go again, I guess.