I apologize in advance for my appearance. I am in this strange weather system of grooming, where I get caught in doldrums of solitude that don't require mascara...or bathing. Apparently, any sense of hygiene or dignity I possessed was dictated by social constructs that don't apply when you are alone at home with the words and the ideas and the dogs. I now know that dry shampoo really only cuts it for two days (and you can wear a hat for the third). I have explored the full definition of the term loungewear, and have an area in the drawer designated "sis, those are totally pajamas, mkay?" The people at the Starbuck's have seen worse. And I have accepted that I am gross now.
Except when I am CUTE. I use capital letters because they capture the desperation of my cuteness, a hurricane of effort to overcome the grooming deficit acquired over previous days. I put on perfume. And eyeliner. And too many bracelets. Because I am happy to see you!!!!!!!!!!!! (Punctuation, like makeup, fails when applied to excess.)
Don't get me wrong. This freelance life is so good. You will note a genuine, calm smile underneath the hat/dry shampoo or lipstick/foundation, depending on which day you see me. I just need to perfect the styling.