I’m still sleepy. And I have no hair. And my roots are ginger but sadly the rest of my (limited) hair is much darker than I wanted. But it’s okay. Because I’m alive, despite my best efforts.
Spending time with V was lovely. What a beautiful, amazing and hilarious girl. Is that a kebab in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?
Things are getting better. Slowly. It’s barely noticeable. But I have new asymmetrical hair (a picture of which I’ll post at a later date since I look like merde at the moment), and a new lease of life what with all these epiphanies and inspiration in the form of lovely new people and the rejection of those old and crap people. Which sounds brutal. Because it is. But it’s harder for me to admit it, you know? Ugg. You don’t know. Focking ambiguity.
My brother’s Yankland woman sent home some pressies. This lovely bag which I pretty much adore:
Coach Leatherware, which is apparently quite fancy and expensive. Fair play, Christina. I love love love the colour. Papaya. Ooh, baby.
She also sent me The Red Magician. It’s strange and Ukrainian and pre-WWII. Which is not really my kind of book but I’m not exactly spoiled for choice in the literature department of late (what with being too lazy to walk to the library) so I shall give this book a go.
God bless ‘er, Christina also got some photos which we took last year framed for us, which I think was a really sweet idea. Lovely frames. Plus, my hair looked nice. Even if my face looked colossal. (:
It is a beautiful day. I’m going to spend some time with one of my favourite gingers (of which there are many) and spend twenty yo-yos in Penneys. (I feel like a millionaire.)
My hair is well short. Shorter than it’s ever been. I trust my hairdresser with my life but I have to admit, I’m nervous about the lack of hair on my head. I feel nude. (Which reminds me: last night before I went to that gig in Cusack’s, I asked the people in the house what they thought I should wear. Bad idea. My mother’s lack suggested I become a naturalist. What the f…?)
Okay. Sunglasses. Skirt. Brogues. Bright Eyes. Some class of t-shirt (don’t even care). Ready.
I am sorry that I am so changeable with my moods, my opinions, my hair and my relationships. Áfach, sin an fáth go bhfuil sibh i ngrá liom, nach bhfuil?