Hacking it

Oh and what may that be? A rope? Woven yarn? Nope... That, my friends, is the hair I cut off  - 30CM! And now it is going to CANSA so they can make a wig. What a relief!

**Apologies for the bad quality photo. It was taken with my phone and the hair is in a plastic bag.**

It is still worth it, right?!

So apparently: 

However: 

Thanks to that Skank* Writer for the top photo. Was she trying to get me to give up one of my greatest loves?! hmmmm..... :) The bottom photo is sourced from a great website: Imgfave.

* Before anyone gets huffy about my 'bad language' and 'name calling', it is a term of ENDEARMENT! There is also Slutty, Slag, Tramp and Vamp. If you have a name of that sort, then join the party too! :) 

Such non-sense!

There are those days when reality hits you like the worst bitch slap you have ever received. When all the work you've done blows up into tiny ashes, when your hopes are transformed into dust and you are left clutching the thin, thin air. It is on those days when your most vile, soul cataclysmic thoughts stare you in the face screaming: "You are powerless! What is, is and even you cannot change it!" You sit there,  like a dumbfounded dope with your mouth hanging open. "Fuck!" seems to be the only word repeating the circuit of your mental processes. And the next day you have to get up, go to work and function like yesterday never happened. Yeah, this sort of shit really stinks.

The Peter Pan Syndrome

I am currently having a lot of trouble finding the right words - hence the absence from Blogger-ville. My insides are a muddled, muddy mess. I cannot begin to wade through it at the moment. But I think this quote captures a bit of what I feel right now, but I could be wrong. Regardless it is still a wonder of words. I got it from Slutty's sister, who got it from another friend. :)


"I'm convinced that most people do not grow up. We find parking spaces and honour our credit cards.We marry and dare to have children and call that growing up.I think what we do is mostly grow old.We carry accumulation of years in our bodies and our faces; but generally our real selves, the children inside, are still innocent and shy as magnolias" - Maya Angelou