Smooth & Rough at the Same Time

Wore my high waisted smooth-textured dark indigo skinny jeans and figure-hugging teal blue v-neck sweater for a lot longer than I had wanted or expected today.  Wanted to come home, and relax.  Which I’m doing now.  Thin stretchy translucent electric violet sleep tank has replaced it all, and I’m curled up, skin and mood luxuriating in the underside of my favorite blanket, soft as the fog of early morning when there’s absolutely nowhere I need to be.  

Episode of Night Gallery about a man’s hand possessed to murder of its own accord has me thinking about hands, men’s hands.  I love looking at hands on men.  They usually look so strong.  Some are too hairy for me to enjoy, or have dirt perpetually caked under the fingernails, which also ruins it for me.  My favorites are the ones that look sort of elegant, but with animalistic qualities.  I’ve always preferred the same thing in the owners of the hands– men with sophistication and outward steadiness, but a wildness and a touch of beastliness radiating from within.  They bring out my own wildness and beastliness, which I habitually keep quite contained.  

Pushing my hair back by gently raking my fingernails along the top and back of my scalp.  I like the wildness of my curls after I’ve been home for a couple of hours and cease to care about keeping them tamed.  The more I casually rake my fingers from one side of my scalp to the other, the more unkempt they look.  I generally love doing things that mess up my hair just a little bit.