So, January happened. And ruminations on a doll house.

I mean, did it? It simultaneously feels like this month lasted for ever and never happened at all. I have vague memories of buying some hot jeans, a purse I haven't even seen yet and a pair of shoes I can't wear for three more months. I have a vivid memory of having wine and Mediterranean food in Long Beach and then shopping for sex toys. I remember the Rose Bowl. I remember New Year's Day.

And, well, that's it.

I accomplished nothing this month, unless you count watching the entire first seasons of 90210 and Supernatural as accomplishing something.

I went through a lot of emotions this month. My head still hurts from them.

My aunt went through some of my uncle's things and found an illustration from a 1976 edition of Better Homes and Gardens that my uncle used as the inspiration for the dollhouse he hand-made me when I was seven. The doll house was yellow and had a special little attic where the dolls could store their extra dresses. It had white curtains that my aunt sewed for me and not one but two balconies so the dolls could enjoy the outside on breezy summer nights in Western Pennsylvania.

This month I realized that I can't stretch the four weeks between hair coloring even one extra day because the right side of my head wants to develop a grey streak so badly that it's starting to overpower everything else. After I realized that, I went and lay down in my bed to pout like a four year old and wallow in self-pity, and from my bed I could see the framed picture that eventually became my doll house. When I was a little girl, I played with that doll house all the time. I honestly always thought that I was practicing for when I was older. Now, I literally have a grey streak that requires me to send myself email reminders that it's time to color my hair, my month was so forgettable that most of what I remember involves shopping and crying, and I own a pink cell phone and pink iPod. Strange how life works out.

I'm really not feeling bad. I'm sure this weekend I'll go to Mesquite for the Super Bowl and it will be fun and insane and amazing and I'll start telling stories about how much I like the freedom of my life right now (and probably how I drank until I puked on the blackjack table) again by Monday. I'm just work-stressed and a little sad about some other things and maybe even a little PMS-driven. Ignore me. I'll be totally back to normal by Monday. If nothing else, I'll go out and do something crazy on purpose so we all have something to talk about! Promise! Love you! Mean it!