That I’d chop my hair regardless of your pleas for hair sanity. I stretched Isobel’s nap out today and then just as she was about to melt down with need-to-go-in-the-crib syndrome, I popped her in the stroller. This bought me time for coffee and most of a haircut. Yes, I’ve gotten over wanting to be attractive or hot or sexy or whatever else redheads are supposed to be and decided to just go lesbian/rocker. Note the lack of skin tone, eyelashes and brows. Ignore the bobblehead.
Trust me, with enough product, this will have alternative written all over it.
This is the same haircut that I had when JDawg and I met. ‘Cept picture platinum blonde, with strawberry roots. And twenty pounds heavier. And no curl to it. Oh, and more product.
Which leads me to our convo tonight. Today was the first time that we’ve talked since I laid down the law over a week ago and I’ve missed him. I think he’s missed me a bit and I know he’s missed Isobel. I do have confirmation that he’s always known that I’m crazy and that I shag like a minx, so it wasn’t all tenseness, even though I stuck to the guns.
Sometimes, I think I’m just too high on my horse and that I need to get over his issues and just accept him as is. Cuz how else can I teach Isobel to? But then I find myself making grandiose statements over MSN that us being together wasn’t much worse than us being apart and I have to stop myself. Cuz do I want Isobel to see her dad, regardless of the cost to her innocence; do I want my best friend back; or do I want my boyfriend back?
The answer is mostly none of the above.
Last night was the last night of taking Chantix and to celebrate I’ve had a drink tonight and I’ve got a buzz and a visit with star girl tonight was nice and chatty and wonderful as always. Am I still smoking? Yes. But I’m ok with that, for now.
This morning, she woke up early and so provisions were provided for and I laid down on the big, comfy queen sized bed in her room – the one that only gets used for cuddling during story time – and slept off and on for another hour. That was blissful and she was totally fine with reading and singing and playing with stuffies, as long as said stuffies could come and have some “ufffs” from me. (meaning loves. ie hugs and kisses)
The bitch of it is, I left my damn quilt in there and so tiptoing might be essential to my sleeping coccooniness.
