Magritte, Merci

Yesterday

I skipped my least favorite class, and Christine and Lauren skipped their print class, and we went on a bike ride. We rode for ages, under the overpass, way down Gate Parkway, past new ideal-suburbia apartments being built, past the library and ended up at a darling little coffe place. It had a catchy name, but I've forgotten it momentarily. I ate half of a sandwich Christine had brought, we all got tea and it was a spur of the moment little picnic, at a random place on a blustery day. On the way back we noticed a lake a ways off the road, down a hill. So we rode our bikes down the hill, and traipsed back there for a bit, just exploring, wondering why Jacksonville pine trees are all planted in straight lines. Then, before we left, we rode our bikes down the hill again, three times, for good measure, because it was terribly fun. We decided to explore a side of the contruction area, too, and played on those big concrete pipes, the circle ones you can fit in? They were so heavy we couldn't even move them, so we just ran around jumping from pipe to pipe. Then some men from the contruction site came over, to leave I guess, as it was a side exit. I don't think they spoke English, but they were looking at us rather strangely, so we took it to be a good time to leave, which we did, and it was. We rode back home in 5 o'clock traffic, and the adventure was pronounced magnificent by all three of us. Magnificent.

They do

Today was a good day. The sky was blue and I was smiling often. Maybe blondes do have more fun? I'm going to go to the library to filch some music and then running, but I will leave part of a poem that I'm enamored with of late:

"If Christ had died in a hallway we might pray in hallways
or wear little golden hallways around our necks"

(I don't understand my ever more frequent ups and downs, but I won't question the ups when they're here)

Countdown County

Makes me bitter like a coffee bean (is what I'll leave it at, after half an hour's worth of typing and deleting, on that subject.)
Mama turned 53.

Christine dyed my hair blonde Saturday night. Picture me marigold-tressed on my keyboard typing, and laugh, because it's not fitting at all, this strawberry blonde state of mind in the midst of my recent dark wallowings.