I’m Worried about the Architects, Courting is Hard, Swishy Hair

I mentioned last week that I was once again pondering my long-ago goal of reading one classic per month. I decided to plunge in a few days ago and downloaded “The Fountainhead” on my Kindle. Now I’m worried about the architects. I had no idea that profession was such a competitive, cut-throat industry full of snakes and villains, with treachery and betrayal around every corner. And these architects are but young men. They seem to be holding their own okay thus far into the story, but I am concerned about them. They are a bit naive and seem vulnerable to making life-altering mistakes in their young careers. I am stressed out by proxy just reading about them, but now I have to keep reading just to make sure everything turns out okay. I know that our dear H. Roark acts all stoic and tough and fancies himself the James Dean of architecture, but I am afraid he doesn’t know quite what he’s walking into by throwing his lot in with the likes of Henry Cameron. I’ll keep you all posted on the emerging situation.

In more cheery news, I am growing ever closer to my afore-mentioned goal of teasing a marriage proposal out of Harvey the town doctor in “Stardew Valley.” I asked him to be my date at the annual Flower Dance. I’ve gifted him with bread sticks, cookies, daisies, and cauliflower. I have sworn not to tell anyone that he struggles to keep up in his aerobics class. I have listened sympathetically as he expreseed how much pressure he feels trying to keep the townspeople healthy. And it’s all paying off, my friends. The last time I checked our friendship meter, I had like, eight hearts! Then he told me a few nights ago in the pub that he wanted to “put our doctor-patient relationship aside and get to know each other on a personal level.” Ding, ding, ding! I’m pretty sure that’s a major ethics violation on his part, but all I care about is getting that ring on my finger, baby. Only now he’s being kind of weird. He refuses to talk to me when he’s fiddling with his ham radio and the last time I ran into him, he was all stuttery and nervous. Courting is hard. But I have every confidence that my strategy will pay off and I’ll be on that hot-air balloon ride with Harvey in no time.

Can we get haircuts yet? I keep getting confusing e-mails from my salon. What from I can glean, it will take eight years to get an appointment, you have to stand out on the sidewalk and wait to enter the building by invite, give a secret passcode, and wear a hazmat suit for the duration of your service. The whole endeavor seems exhausting and frankly, I don’t want to deal with the rules. I’m up to my ears in rules these days at work and in life and I’m developing Rules Fatigue Syndrome. Meanwhile my hair is down to my collarbone and keeps growing, as hair is wont to do. I might just see where this takes me. Maybe I will let it go all the way down my back and then I can walk around swishing it. I haven’t had swishy hair in more years than I can count. Maybe I’ll even grow out my bangs. The possibilities are endless. But the most likely scenario is that I hit hair rock bottom and make an appointment and just deal with their darn rules because I can’t stand myself anymore. I’ll keep you posted on that as well.

Here is our weekly sanity check from Jocko Willink, wherein he recounts the story of the Christmas truce between German and British soldiers during World War 1. Warning: It’s fairly graphic.

--Kristen McHenry