Today's my first day as a member of the leisure class. I had a little emotional meltdown last Thursday night, then a panic attack on Friday afternoon. Then last night, instead of my usual Sunday night anxiety, just total euphoria, which has carried right over into this morning. I'm free! Temporarily, but free!
(It's later now)
I went to finish my Christmas shopping. I have two more presents to buy, but for people I won't see until December 30, so I'm effectively done. And now, only a few days into my life as a lady who could lunch if she wanted to, I have no good ideas or inspiration. I think I function better when I'm in a constant state of agitation. Nothing to worry about worries me. What to write about?
My hair! I can write about my hair! I know, it's so exciting! I got my hair cut two weeks ago, and it didn't work out so well. It wasn't drastic, it was just a very bad, terrible, no good haircut. Layer upon layer upon layer, creating flippy little wingy things all over my head. No good. So I'm walking through the mall, and I see a hair salon, with empty chairs all over the joint. I ignore the little voice that tells me that nothing good can come of walking into a mall salon and saying "Hi! Can you cut my hair, like right now?" So I got my hair cut, like right then. It's OK, I think. The only option, short of short all over, which is not an option, was a reverse bob, with some of the more offensive layers blended a bit. I stayed her hand on that part; I think she was disappointed that impromptu haircut woman wasn't willing to allow carte blanche with the scissors, but I did let her take almost 2 inches in length. My hair is just above my shoulders now, for the first time in a long time. I think I like it; I'll find out for sure when I wash it myself. So see, that wasn't even that interesting. A really GOOD impromptu haircut story would involve truly epic hair badness, but I had nowhere to go but up.
OK, here's another thing. I'm still a 4.0 student; my final exam grade was 95, leaving me with a class average of 96. I have to take one more science class, damn it, and I'm putting it off for as long as possible. I've become attached to my 4.0, and I don't see it surviving Biology or Physics.
At this point, I think I could maybe claim to have kidnapped the Lindbergh baby, since there's NO WAY anyone is still reading this bilge. I can't even think of any other unsolved crimes to confess to, so I'll put this sorry excuse for a post out of its misery. My four year old wants me to help him snap his fingers, so I'll report back later.