My Hair Bleeds From Being Cut

Erin was a doll and cut my hair last night. No more will I feel the comforting fingers of my hair massage my lower neck. Gone are the days where people would come to me and try to steal pieces of my clothing to sell in English parishes. I also stupidly shaved my facial hair - leaving me quite indecent in the face. When I go outside (which is not very often, anymore) it feels like I am flashing people. In all honesty I had hoped that by shaving and clipping my luxuriant locks the weather would stop being cold and the mountain snow would melt. My pale face certainly could use the tanning properties of the sunshine. I made this pact with the universe yesterday while I trudged up and down the Wellsville mountain foothills stretching a horribly dilapidated fence while rainwater dripped onto my bum. At least the rain makes the world mudlicious and puddle-wonderful. If you have never driven an ATV through mud and puddles in the mountains I would highly recommend it. It will not be long until they start charging a fee for having that much fun and getting that dirty. Of course my primal sense of fun has always involved the getting of dirt. Even the threat of mother publicly bathing me and my naked brothers with a green hose on our front lawn did not deter us from rolling in what little mud we found under the park swing-divots and drying it on us like Nile crocodiles.

Perhaps I have made a mistake to try and end the rain; it is futile. I did not account for children praying for mud holes. I can't beat the prayers of children, especially now that I no longer resemble Jesus.