I grew my short, spiky multi-colored hair out, and dyed it blue black. And while it's not long, it's getting there. I've always been blessed to having thick, glossy hair, but part of the reason why I usually keep it short is because it's got a mind of its own. Some of it curls nicely, but it waves too, and I have a strange cowlick up front that has to be constantly pinned down to make it behave. I like long hair, and I hate it. I hate it 'cuz it gets hot, yanno? Who wants to be running around, with tendrils of it pasted to the back of your neck, or whipping wildly around your face?
I've taken to wearing lower cut shirts, too. Why? Fuck, I don't know. I really am hot blooded, and it's just cooler. Mind you, I'm not talking sleazy, or garishly colored, or with words painted across the chest in glitter glue. A simple, black, v-necked t-shirt, a pair of dark jeans, and my black docs have been my main uniform of late. Gone is the bitter ice, snow and wind, and so its been pretty mild out. I'm roasting in my multi-layered shirts and sweaters. Buh-bye big, hulk jacket of mine. I lost my favorite hat with the black sequins, so I've taken to wearing a goofy toque with the biggest-assed pom-pom on top. I dare people to make fun of me, but they don't.
Work is fine. Mondays are finance days, which are just bloody lovely. And yes, that was sarcasm. Mind you, I don't half mind finance days, because the Finance Officer is the only person in the world who smokes, besides me. Since she's the superior in the chain of command, I leave it up to her to decide how often we break for our social no-no. She's got no shame, though she's considering a hypnotist as a last-ditch attempt to surrender the habit. I've given up, giving up, though I'll be supportive if she really decides to take that step.
My love life is all askew, but if my female intuition is even half-right, someone else is starting to see me differently.
I don't know how I feel about that.