colds and baby butt hands

i'm getting mighty close to hair-hatred

i can't wait to have it all chopped off, croppec close and spikey and all over the place. and freshly red and ...

oh the freedom of a shorn head.

i talked to ameswell today. she's been one of those longest-standing friends. we were best friends from age 15. she played flute, i played trumpet. i was atheist and a little loud and crass sometimes and willing to try most things. she was christian, and quiet, and wanted to be popular and proper and would mother hen me about being too crazy. somehow we fit well and we'd make snicker doodle dough and watch Lady Jane and sob into our cookie dough. she is now the mother of three awfully far away. and we still love each other.

she's a forever-friend.

and crotchety is talking about how he bought gloves to wear while he does weights at the gym because the handles pull at his skin and it *is* true, his hands are freakishly soft like baby-butt-hands and it's kind of creepy and i bet he's never had a callous in his life.

sniffle. snurfle. this is the weirdest low level cold i've ever had.

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