(Ob)noxious

Like fuzzy frost that dusted the morning grass, a bitter pill languishes, coating my tongue with cantankerous bile. Beneath clear skies, the dawn cold rose up to grip my toes and and heart, turning blue my pursed frown and drawing down my eyelids like a velvet sash, heavy and dark with dust and ash.

Waking to such a venemous mood as this, I did what any right-minded, red-blooded woman would and made myself a hair appointment. A little pampering never hurt anyone and, indeed, as the weighty hair fell, my spirit seemed to brighten, but only just. What follows, the results:

Loving my new 'do, but still trying to shake the pervasive toxicity.