over it

I've successfully made it through half of the month of blogging every day.  I'm over the hump.  I am also very tired. I left the house this morning at 6:27.  I made it back home tonight at 9:40.  I spent 4 1/2 hours at work, an hour for lunch with Mr. Bump, 4 1/2 hours working in the afternoon, then went to my hair stylist after going to the post office.  After two hours with the Best Stylist in the Universe, I drove over to pick up a friend, and then we drove over to the hospital and spent an hour with a friend who's in the ICU. We sat in the car and chatted for a bit, and then I got home at 9:40. Then I ate cereal and cheese and crackers for dinner.

I thought I'd throw up a couple of pictures of my new hair and call it good for a blog post. Days like today don't make blogging every day easy.  I'm just really exhausted.

Then I spent 30 minutes posing for Mr. Bump because there is no such thing as a "quick photo of my new hair" apparently.  Anyway, enjoy. It's getting long. I'm glad to get some color back in it.

driven from drink

Today was the kind of day where I really wished I drank more. Anything I've done wrong in the last month rose like scum to the top of the pond today. Work was one long series of correcting mistakes--both mine and other people's.

On a more personal note, my super-dark really cool jeans dyed my hands blue. Mr. Bump tried to cheer me up at lunch by buying me a hot chocolate. Which was terrible. How do you screw up cocoa, you might ask? Try not hot enough, not chocolate-y enough, and something funky was going on with the milk. And! And! No whipped cream! I could make tastier chocolate milk that that was. I would rather have a hot chocolate from Starbucks, and we know how I feel about Starbucks. About as good as I feel about using the royal "we" to refer to myself. By the way, that's called "nosism."

Nosism - The use of 'we' in referring to oneself.

And to top it all off I have to get new insurance because my employer decided to drop my health insurance as a possible insurance option. Where's my hot chocolate now, bitch? I don't know what that means, actually. It just felt like a good thing to say. It gets the bilious rage up and out. The energy required to research all of the insurance options makes me exhausted just thinking about it. I guess I should just shut up and be glad I have insurance. Shutting up now.

Except for one more thing: I've decided that, in order to keep the memory of my "real" age in the frontal lobe, I've decided that each post this once will list someone who is my age. Today's peer is Tyra Banks.