Technically, it’s a Thursday. But I am fairly certain that it is actually a Monday thinly veiled as a Thursday. Either that or I am completely incapable of life today. Honestly, it could be either. I rolled out of bed this morning, a full hour before I needed to be, and promptly managed to fall forehead first into the wall. Apparently, I had a rough night of sleeping (and a not quite complete waking up) and my foot was completely tangled in the sheets, a fact that I didn’t notice until AFTER I face-planted into the wall.
Then I continued on into the bathroom, with the intent of dyeing my hair and was confronted by the largest house spider I have ever seen. To some, this might not be the biggest deal in the world, but alas, I am a tad bit arachnophobic. Okay, maybe a LOT bit, although I am greatly improved from the arachnophobia of my youth. Needless to say, there was screaming involved, at a pitch probably only dogs and unicorns could hear. My blood pressure rose to frightening levels as I began to plot it’s demise and realized I was the only potential assassin awake. But as I neared it with the intent of shortening it’s life, it moved. How dare it try to escape me and cause me more apoplexy?! More screaming ensued as I chased the damn thing around. Finally, I threw the box of baby wipes at it and was successful. Eep.
Heart racing, it was time to dye my hair. Strangely, although keeping the front away from the back was not easy, it was far more relaxing than chasing around a Beast of Terror. Unfortunately, due to time contraints, the purply part in the front is not quite purply enough, but the black is definately black. However, the reign of terror from the Beast left me with little attention span for details. So I didn’t pay nearly enough attention to my hands, the gloves, and where dye was going. So now I have a faded black spot the size of a dime on my left wrist. Charming.
But in the end, I sit here, typing away in the sun, sipping at Amaretto-infused coffee (the cream, NOT the booze) and loving my new hair. I know, I am pushing 41, but I don’t care. I relish my age-inappropriateness! It makes me smile and that is all that matters.