my hair predicts

“Everything went pear~shaped,” he confesses.

Oh my, no wonder your food comes out in messes.

The sudden rain gusts down in slants,

My tresses go straight into ringlets.

My hair predicts humidity, precipitation, and barometric pressure better than any meteorologist.

I leave the house with it styled one way to return, from a walk, with a totally different look.

It is the Scotch-Irish of my bloodline.

Bearing more neanderthal DNA than the majority.

Whatever that may mean.

Squeak, the cat, goes exorcist onto the door’s screen,

Startling me by meeting mine eyes with hers at an unnatural, five foot level.

Paws splayed in strange ways.

Twenty minutes later, she is asleep in her bubble wrap insulated, amazon box.

What a joy to see that what I perceive as trash becomes a highly prized toy.

Author: writtencasey

I am fascinated by the scientific endeavor and I read about or engage with those processes as much as possible. I am a compulsive reader and writer. With a background in anthropology and as an arm-chair/backyard scientist, I hope to improve my writing skills and learn about any areas of weakness or misunderstanding in my analytic skills. I am excited to share. Thank you for spending time here. Please reach out if you are so inclined. I'd be excited to hear from you.

7 thoughts on “my hair predicts”

    1. Smile. I cribbed that line from the chef of I restaurant I used to work in. We’d get slammed and the (usually on point) chef would fall apart. He could not deal with being in the weeds.

      “Hector, table 21 has been waiting over an hour for their mains. What’s up?”
      “Dunno. Everything went pear-shaped, Case-Face!”

      Thanks for the time in mind, Jaya.

      Liked by 1 person

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