Glarb.
I am having a Day. Nothing has gone wrong. Many things have gone right. And yet I'm itchy and crabby and I want things to be Different. My godson (3) when whining and asked what he wants, often just says "Something Else." This is how I feel today. I want Something Else.
I had a haircut with a new hairdresser. It looks nice. The new woman was very... thorough. I can still feel the comb-strokes. And she hard-sold me on various hair products which work beautifully in the short term but, I know well, would make my very fine hair limp and lank within four hours or so. Some of them also set off skin reactions. Do not want, thx.
I bought some Euros. The exchange rate hurts.
My debit card was refused when renewing my season ticket, so I had to put it on my credit card just before going on holiday. (I have the cash, it's just an unusually big transaction to get an annual travelcard for London. But who in hell buys one more than once a year?).
I did some Latin homework. Badly. Am getting my demonstrative pronouns in a horrible tangle, and I left my dictionary at work and ...
I bought the new Terry Pratchett. This is obviously a moment of joy. Except... is it the last one? It reminded me again to be angry about how unfair it is for that funny, foolishly wise man to be losing his brain and to know it.
If I were three years old, someone would be saying, "Tch, she's tired," and putting me to bed. Sadly, I have sensible things to do, and there's no Something Else on the horizon.
Glarb, I say.
I had a haircut with a new hairdresser. It looks nice. The new woman was very... thorough. I can still feel the comb-strokes. And she hard-sold me on various hair products which work beautifully in the short term but, I know well, would make my very fine hair limp and lank within four hours or so. Some of them also set off skin reactions. Do not want, thx.
I bought some Euros. The exchange rate hurts.
My debit card was refused when renewing my season ticket, so I had to put it on my credit card just before going on holiday. (I have the cash, it's just an unusually big transaction to get an annual travelcard for London. But who in hell buys one more than once a year?).
I did some Latin homework. Badly. Am getting my demonstrative pronouns in a horrible tangle, and I left my dictionary at work and ...
I bought the new Terry Pratchett. This is obviously a moment of joy. Except... is it the last one? It reminded me again to be angry about how unfair it is for that funny, foolishly wise man to be losing his brain and to know it.
If I were three years old, someone would be saying, "Tch, she's tired," and putting me to bed. Sadly, I have sensible things to do, and there's no Something Else on the horizon.
Glarb, I say.