On Monday, I am mailing 16 inches of my hair to a charity organization. It took me two years, one month, and four days to grow. I am desperately hoping that the organization finds it suitable for their purpose. If they don't, I will be sorely disappointed. There was so much effort put into growing all that hair. It's so hard to not get your hair cut for years, and all that brushing.
There's a woman who asked me to hold too much for her tonight. I doubt she even understands why I am not* hurt by her attempts to wound. Some people just have to lash out, but that doesn't mean anyone has to sit around for it.
I am now walking home along the borders of a small national park. I hear the hissing of condominium ventilation systems, and the hooting of owls, and I can not choose between. The vents slither and steam, while the birds swoop and chirp. I am not sure if that's the right word.
* I somehow skipped this rather important modify when writing this post. Never hit send without proofreading. Or while walking.