Ping!

Okay, so I talk about my hair a lot. I think this has a lot to do with the fact that in my head I tend to think of my hair as a separate entity that contributes to, but is still apart from, my person as a whole. Not like a wig though, I mean like a consciousness thing. I often bemoan the fact that I can't just brush the damn stuff and envy women with straight hair who get mussed up and can correct mussing very easily with a single, portable implement. If I get mussed up, I have to use fingers, water, a mirror, an afro comb in desperation and generally just pull the whole thing back with a hairband that I keep on my wrist. Unfortunately the only thing that generally improves my hair when it looks shit is washing it and showers aren't as portable as hairbrushes. However, if I had lovely, shiny, straight hair, I am sure I would get bored of it pretty speedily. It would also look odd with my crazy big face and head (it's enormous. Really). I actually love my hair, however much I complain, and especially the curls that are endlessly entertaining. I was pinging a particularly stubborn corkscrew this morning while reading my emails and thinking that if I had straight hair, I wouldn't be able to spend my time pinging it when I'm bored. It certainly wouldn't be as elastic or as useful as a weapon. I'm kind of re-in love with my hair again after getting it cut back to my original style, which really does suit me the best. I was briefly loving the bob-like cut but it got long and triangular so quickly that it wasn't worth it. Shaggy layers are the best because they're more flexible and, for someone who has always resisted tattoos for the main reason that I throw out clothes within a year of buying them and generally out of boredom, this is a good thing.

I have been getting a bit hysterical at work this week. A particular situation has been created by one of my artistically inclined colleagues that generally makes me start giggling in a slightly panicky way when I think about it. Basically, I have to sort something out in a week that would typically take a month and the first step involves contacting someone who may be the person that I need or may be just someone who has the same name and I am beginning to suspect that neither of them exist. It's all deeply silly and my only consolation is that it is not my fault.