Episode 2-69 – Why Are Women’s Razors Pink?

I feel bad going on about my “problems” as I’m starting this while listening to the news. That poor Jordanian pilot. And all the other unreported violent and grotesque murders that have passed by the Western media today. The children who have died. The women attacked. The families torn apart by war.

Compared to the terror and grief in the world, am I really that bad off?

Of course not.

But I’m putting guilt aside and revelling in my little achievements. That makes me sound pretty insular, which I’m not.

Stop! Good thoughts.

I haven’t killed anyone. Yet.

More than twenty four hours later and I doubt I’ll even write much tonight let alone finish a complete post. It’s about one in the morning (ten to two, just checked while editing) and I’m painting my nails and browsing on Etsy for a rose gold arrow necklace. There’s one for about eight euro but God knows what the shipping costs as it’s coming from Korea. ElsaDaughter compares me to “Brave”‘s Merida, mostly because the of the unruly hair but I guess also because of the temper, stubbornness and independence taken to a fault. She seems to think it’s a good thing to be like the stroppy Scottish princess so an arrow necklace might imbue me with some of my daughter’s esteem of my character and shoo out some of my own misgivings.

I’ll come back to detail tomorrow but for now let me say I’ve had a five day sequence of good. And hopefully I haven’t jinxed it all now and I wake up a salty, sweaty, unmovable mess with polished nails.

But at least I shaved my legs so if I do end up in a psychotic lockdown at least I won’t be vilely hirsute.

More anon, now to bed.


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