My hair doesn’t say much about me. I like it short because it’s easier to maintain. I hate it short because it gets in my face. I like it long because it gets curlier. I hate it long because it gives me headaches when it’s up. It’s thick, even with bald spots caused by trichotillomania. Sometimes you have to love your hair
Yesterday, your pet/baby/inanimate object could read your post. Today, they can write back. Write a post from their point of view (or just pick any non-verbal creature/object).
I have no idea what my Kindle Fire would respond back with. Most likely “God damn it, stop using me so often. Give me a break.
Or maybe “Use me more often.” I do tend to leave it on the bed in the mornings. But if I bring it into the living room, nothing, and I mean nothing, will actually get done if I had my Kindle in the living room with me.
My truck would tell me “See, I told you not to worry. It was just a hiccup. The wind went in the wrong pipe”. The truck got her code scanned, and it was my MAF sensor. It happens when wind gets up weird in the engine or whatever. Happens more often than it should but it doesn’t hurt the truck (confirmed by a couple different mechanics). That’s good news.
I’ve never been known for my self-confidence. As I’ve gotten older, my skin has decided that now it wants to have the breakouts. It’s insane.
But today, I took some time and actually put on make-up, taking extra care on covering up the problem areas. I even filled in the brows.
Products I used:
It’s not the makeup though, that made me feel pretty. It was the confidence in myself, knowing I was doing it for myself, not because I had to.
I feel comfortable admitting that. I truly and honestly have no idea what I’m doing.