and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

Thing is that I just did laundry and December is fast approaching. I'll be out of this godforsaken land-o-cement soon enough but will I have enough clean clothes? Lucky enough to have a giant hockey-bag-sized duffel for travel purposes - perfect for holiday trips home - but I'm not sure they'll be enough bounce-fresh smellin jumpers to fit into the thing.

Might just have to go around naked.

Or do laundry again.

Don't suppose you'd make a wager on which one of those is more likely, if you know me at all.

So despite my fast recovery vis-a-vis the fall down the stairs I am, nevertheless, plagued with a residual lumpiness on my eyebrow. Who knows about this? Scar tissue? I didn't exactly break anything. Didn't tear skin. No open wounds. Just a big lump. So now it's a little lump, not exactly painful, but certainly weird and alien-like and on anyone else I'd let it slide but on me.. well...

It just ruins my boyish charm.

Your mum might have told you how adorable you were growing up but nevermind. I'm far better looking. I'm sharp and smart and fair-haired to boot. I have perfectly average features, symmetry of the gods, and a week-old scruff to die for. I'm your mother's best fantasy.

Except I can't sing, I can't draw, I can't not-fall-down-stairs and I certainly can't imagine a world in which this mug was worth a penny next to any other face you could pick off the street. Looks, they tell me, can be deceiving. Regardless, looks for looks sake.. it's fool's gold. Fashion is for the fair. And by fair I mean simple.

And by simple I mean retarded.

Fashion, well, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing. I imagine it's as good an indicator of internal smarts as the cowlick. It's probably as good a predictor of street smarts as a birthmark.

I'm not trying to get down on fashion itself, just that fashion for fashion's sake seems a bit of a hoax and really, what's the point? We're all trying to express ourselves.. run around flashing our red feathers in front of the opposition's faces.. Primal, predicatable, boring.

Even talking about it bores me. I should go do more laundry.