The rebel with a 22"

With little to no exercise to report, my blogging has taken a back seat to a (still) broken hand.

My house is a wreck given that the still broken hand is my dominant hand, and both of my daughters are unavailable.

One has her own apartment in Tempe, and thinks she was born forty years too late.

The other is living the life of the adored older cousin in Idaho this week; she'll be in Montana next week...26 days of adventuring!

While I'm not home alone, The King & Lad are not the greatest at general housekeeping.  Yes, the dishes are done.  Laundry gets washed & dried, but not put away.

As you can see, we no longer see eye to eye!

Being bored out of my skull, I've turned to the endless source of recent amusement:  steampunk.

Sure, it's just a corset.  But I wore it in public for no reason at all, and my waist measured a mere 22".

Abbie was horrified, but 27 others apparently approved.

And then I dyed my hair.

Abbie did not approve.

Nor did Parry.

We have to redo the blond streaks:)

The King says I have the hair of a rebel.

I say when you can't change your life, change your hair.

I'm awaiting a package that could change everything...maybe.

All I know, is I'm quite tired of circumstances changing mine.

It seems I'm being unwise...that I'm ignoring good foundational strengths.

All I know is I have an idea about time...and I need to see if I can get it to work.