Cutting edge of depression

Some people shop when they are down in the dumps; some, I hear, can't stop gorging on calorie-rich goodies. I do things to my hair that I normally wouldn't dream of.

After more than a week of feeling out of sorts and snapping at Ditu and Abhi (but never at the maid), I just had to do something to feel better: so I went out and got a short haircut; I wanted a short-short one but my hairstylist refused on account of may hair's propensity to turn African bush on me. And I also got some reddish-brown highlights... forgot to check out the shade name in the Szchwarzkopf (did I get that right?) shade card or else I could have flaunted names like chestnut brown or golden blonde. Let's just say it looks something like plum mixed with walnut and a pinch of crimson... name it what you will.

Do I look good? Yes, say my gal pals; but after all, they are my friends and i am trying to come out of a depression... so do I believe them? Well, I want to...

I am happy seeing myself in the mirror, though; so that's something. Waiting for Abhi to get back from work: I've already warned my neighbours to ignore loud noises from our flat tonight in case he thinks I look like something the cat dragged home.

Whatever. I feel better; and if it takes some fighting to prove it to hubby dear, bring on the boxing gloves.