Megnut

So, after all I wrote

So, after all I wrote yesterday, about not writing more, and turning off the webcam, it turns out, it was all LIES LIES LIES. Why must you turn megnut into a House of Lies? And by lies I mean, new posts now appear every day it seems, and the webcam's on. But beware, it looks like a wayward baby grizzly bear went to sleep on my head.

I'd been growing out my hair for some time now, I guess since last fall, and for the past few months, it was beyond manageable and ventured into the realm of frizzed-out over-bleached 'fro. Yesterday I bit the bullet and got it cut and dyed brown. Yes, boring old brown (well there's some red in there too). But my hair needed a rest, and I couldn't go a different shade of blonde on top of what had already been bleached. Well I guess I could have, but then I would have had some mutant orange/blonde/grey hair, so I said No Thank You to that.

So now it looks like I'm wearing a brown wig, and if you think you're freaked out looking at it, imagine how I feel when I look in the mirror. I feel like I'm on the lam. I'm a fugitive who did a bad dye job in a cheap motel bathroom with the sirens wailing in the distance as I rushed to rinse the blood off my hands and the dye from my hair. Quick, into a stolen pick-up, I peel out in a cloud of dirt and gravel, and you don't see me again—until the cameras zoom in on my bullet-ridden body, lying in a ditch. I'm dressed in a man's flannel and one over-sized boot. The other's been lost during the police chase, through the woods, chased by dogs, horrible german shepards with horrible big teeth. As the camera zooms in (my face is unscathed), you see that oddly-colored mop, and you think, My, but she looked so much better blonde.

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