we're weary of your name

Attempting to dye my hair, once again. It better be properly blue black by the time I'm finished or there will be one hell of a foot stomping.

After this, I plan on lounging on my bed with a copy of "The Church of Satan" by Blanche Barton. I do so love a good comedy.

My mood lifts slightly throughout the day, but settles back down around my shoulders by the time my feet hit home ground. I read words and speak thoughts and blink my eyes against the setting sun of their voices, but nothing can quite shake away the always on the edge breaking of tears.

I need to cry. But, I'm refusing. I almost always refuse. And I never let anyone see me like that.

There's a dead end before me, the only direction I can take is back. But, I always swore I'd never walk previous roads. My feet don't like familar ground and neither does my brain. The paths are my manners and thoughts, I don't wish to double back and start the journey over again. It's always harder the second time go round.

Cigarette, out.
Girl, in shower.
Black dye, on skin.

The Fool and The Queen

I identify very closely with the archetype of the Fool. To the point where I even have it tattooed on my body in two different languages. The ink is on my right wrist, top and bottom respectively in Gaelic and Hebrew. My right hand is my brain hand. It is the one which works the hardest and makes up for the left hand's short comings. My right hand is the thinker. The drone. The busy little bee.

Alice is the Fool.

I also identify very closely with the concept of the Queen. This is also tattooed on my body, the left wrist and in the same languages. My left hand is my heart hand. I dream with this hand, I follow with these fingers. It's scarred from a nasty accident and some feeling has even been lost in two of my fingers. I don't like thinking about the day which that happened, as I can only remember a lot of blood and pain. Maybe even some screaming.

Alice is the Queen.

If I could meld these two concepts, turn them into a whole person, I think I could be a complete and happy woman. It's interesting how the two hands reflect my two halves. My right is the working side, hard working at that. It doesn't stop for breaks and frequently burns out from overuse. My left is my heart side, scarred and feeling half lost. It's afraid of being used and has grown a bit stiff from lack of movement.

My brain, it's damaged from overuse and frequently breaks down. My heart, it's broken from too many broken off inside of it and more often than that it feels as if it's about to burst.

The Fool.
The Queen.

When do I get to just be Alice?