Hair.

I am always apprehensive to return to school after the holidays.
This may be due to my fear of teachers/inability to do homework/the messiness of my locker.

Plus, I left my hair straightener in a motel in New Zealand.
So now my hair is a complete mess. Most of the time. Just don't ask me to take it out of its hair tie. I wish it was artistically messy or somewhat interesting. I wish I had an afro.
I am also painfully aware I need a haircut. I mean, the last time I had one was...in January?
Apart from the hilarious times I decided to cut my own fringe.
But I have an aversion of going to the hairdressers. How can I trust some platinum blonde make-up clad high-school drop out with something at important as my hair? They ALWAYS manage to talk me into some layering (Um..So you have singed half your hair off, so I'll have to cut 10cm off) and somehow I agree. If you have naturally dry/unruly and frizzy-in-summer-hair, you DO NOT agree to layering. Or a fringe.
My split ends are so bad I have made a hobby of pulling the ends apart when I am bored. Any hairdresser would die at the sight.
What's wrong with split ends anyway? They are only noticeable up close.
And the one thing I don't trust hairdresses about is how much they cut. I say 2cm. They cut 6cm. I say 4cm they cut 12cm. I say 5cm, they cut 48939483220589cm.

So I am still undecided. I can always dream.

Home

(taken from within a moving car)
-road from Te Anau.

isn't it peculiar how childhood memory hardly ever fails?
It's not just sight, but smells, sounds, the feeling of pebbles beneath your feet and the smell of freshly mown grass.
One never truely forgets their home.

have you ever been so cold it hurts?

Anyways, to cut the sentimental crap, I present to you a film of sheep stalking me.

its funny, the day after I get back from New Zealand, work calls and asks me if I can work. I thought I had escaped from my laborious, unrewarding job. I was wrong.