Rally Monkey, Rally

I am the worst type of hypochondriac . . . in that I'm so sure that I have something terrible, but refuse to do anything about it. Like going to the doctor. Why would I do that? This is why I couldn't breathe through the left side of my nose for fifteen years or so . . . ever since A.G. slammed his shoulder into it at band camp (once . . . at band camp . . . ) when we were proving how much more punk rock were.

So my neck doesn't "feel right", if that makes any sense. My glands are swollen? Maybe? But the back of my neck hurts too. And I'm pretty sure that my spleen is swollen . . . perhaps that is the pain in my side. And my bug bites haven't stopped itching. They may, in fact, be getting worse and I'm convinced there are more of them. And yesterday, I was just lethargic. In the worst, I-cannot-get-off-this-couch-and-clean-anything kind of way.

And I'm fine. Just stressed and tired. Oh, and I have a metallic taste in my mouth sometimes. Anyhow, I'm fine. And blonde. Very blonde. Looks like Tinkerbell currently.

Is it bad that I change my hair color so much that my mental image of myself doesn't adjust? Quite honestly, I picture myself with the black haircut . . . which was three hairstyles ago. So Tinkerbell in the mirror is kind of a shock, each time. So the blonde is working toward the blue, so that I don't have to be in the chair for three hours, just two.

And why? Why blue? Because I can . . .

But yeah, I think I may be back. I mean I have to go work out right now, but I'll try to write everyday this week. I promise. Thanks for waiting.