Amanda Barber

Stories, songs, and thoughts on life.

I am currently accepting voice, piano, and violin students. Learn more or

Goodbye, 3541 Duke St.

26 February 2015

I’m sitting in my little attic room with its happy yellow paint and the chimney in the middle. I’ve spent hours upon hours up here, practicing my violin, frantically typing medical reports dictated by doctors who do not know how to enunciate, sewing clothes and writing a novel. I’ve lain awake at night listening to the rain drops falling on the roof above or feeling Dad shake the rafters with his snoring in the room below. I love this little room, and I will miss it. The house is sold.

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19 February 2015

As I drive through the thick snow, barely seeing far enough ahead to stay on the road, my eye catches movement on the ground to the right. It’s a little squirrel, sitting by the road as calm as can be. He is unfazed by the biting cold, stoically chewing a little tidbit he’s scrounged up. I wonder where he’ll go after that and where he lives. I wonder what he thinks, if he thinks anything at all.

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He Remembers I’m Dust

05 February 2015

Does God look down at me and shake His head when I stumble over the same stupid things again and again and again? Or does He look down at me in pity, knowing that I am but dust?

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In Which I Donate My Hair

29 January 2015

Over the last several years, I’ve been of the mind that since God has seen fit to give me a thick mane, it would be nice to share the love around.

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In Which Amanda Can No Longer Wear Contacts

22 January 2015

It’s the end of an age. My days as contact-wearer have come to an end. My left eye developed a weird habit of building a ring of red around my iris every time I put my contacts in which lingered for days.

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