I have so much rage to release this week that I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I try to self-soothe so I won’t go ballistic. I just learned a term from Gen Z kids to help me cope: rotting days. Yes, I allow myself to have rotting days, when I just allow myself the grace of being easy on myself because I get a lot of beating from outside factors.

I just sink into music. To nostalgia.

I just had my ultrasound today after the result of my mammogram came out. I have two cysts, one on each boob. So far the radiologist says it’s benign (fluid) but needs to be monitored, whether every six months or once year, it would be up to my gynecologist. It may disappear, it may not. It could grow and it could be aspirated if it gets uncomfortable. I would be very busy this Saturday as the queue at my gynecologist’s clinic is long.

I don’t know what I’m getting at.

I finally found the photo that shows how red my hair was back in 2015. Twin I wanted to see how far did I push back the envelope in terms of hair color. I’m pretty conservative when it comes to that as I haven’t colored my hair green or blue or blonde. I felt that red is still acceptable in a business setting. I colored my hair for strategic reasons—so that the people I was interviewing at the doorstop would remember me when I see them again or when I send a text message,  “Hi _, I’m CallMeCreation, the red-headed reporter. May I ask a follow up question…”

But damn, maintaining a hair like that is too much work. I needed to heavily condition my hair everyday (because hair coloring chemicals literally kill hair) and I spent hours in the salon just to maintain roots.

Now that I don’t have to stand out among the pack of reporters in a media scrum, the need to color my hair various shades of red and brown has also vanished.

Oh how young I looked then. 🥹