Last week in a fit of doldrums, I decided to dye my hair a normal colour. I am having some pretty serious second thoughts about my half-hearted attempt to conform, but there’s nothing I can do about it for at least a month. It amuses me to know that even though my hair isn’t blood red or dark purple, it’s still nothing ever found in nature except perhaps on dogs – the top layer is black, and everything underneath is varying shades of brown. I suck at fitting in.

Yesterday was a good day, until around 5pm or so. Work went well. I am cautiously and probably foolishly optimistic about the Space Station; there’s a potential project coming up that plays directly to all my strengths and I am jumping for a chance to do it. Good, too, was the word from the owners of our new location – I am officially allowed to park my scooter at the bike rack, which is situated far from the street and hidden from everyone except the people doing yoga downstairs. There is absolutely no danger of Sally being run over, unless someone chooses to drive a car up the concrete stairs and onto a patio. Hell, a car probably won’t fit up there at all. I am safe! No more parking tickets! No more mystery scratches! I’m right up against a wall in a cozy corner; no one can even try to sit on her! It is as glorious and protected! Hooray for Sally!

So yeah, the day started out good. I really, really wish that it had stayed that way – between dealing with my insane mother and my bafflingly inconsiderate husband, I am tired and sad and hurt all over from the inside. Right now I’m sitting at my desk hoping that Ali gets to her computer soon, because I need someone to divulge my woes to. I am a sad monkey – a sad, disappointed, disgusted, tired monkey.