I tried to post this Wednesday

But Blogger was misbehaving.

So, here's Wednesday's post...

Blog, blog, bloggity-blog.

I went home this past weekend. I didn't tell many people, I didn't have time to see everyone and so didn't.

Arrived Friday, Mom picked me up at MARTA. While waiting for her I watched a little boy skipping around waiting for someone (his Mom was in the car idling at the curb). Suddenly he took off running towards the MARTA entrance and was scooped up into his Dad's arms. He was then showered with kisses while he squealed in a cute way. It was an adorable, Folgers coffee sort of scene. I also noticed that the city birds in Atlanta are small cute things; not the hefty black creatures with ragged tails that I see all about these parts.

We went to Junkman's Daughter to pick up my hair dye. I really don't like that place. The staff in there is, more often than not, bemusing and irritating; these folks, who take great pains to be "different" and/or express themselves through their dress and their hair, find the need to be so insolent towards and dismissive of those of us who don't wear our personality. I know. Judgemental and a gross generalization, but there it is. I have always felt that, have always received that sort of reception in that store.

The brunch experience (Flying Biscuit) and the hair cut were fantastic. The hair is a kicky bob a little like the one I had about... uhm, two years ago? Time is free flowing for me. Two years, five years. For all I know it could have been five years ago, but I don't think so. Moving on... the hair is black with underlights of deep purple. I love it.

I want to go swimming, but it's not worth risking the hair. I'm craving physical exercise, but anything outside is out of the question. As a woman I work with is fond of saying, it's two degrees above hell out there. Frickin' hot. I suppose I could do the treadmill, but what fun is that? Climbing up nothing like a rat in a wheel. I'll do some yoga.

The rest of my weekend home was wonderful. The trees. Family. Homemade food that I didn't cook. All good.