I’m thinking it’s time for a haircut.
I think this A LOT. And then I think, “not so much.” And I go about my life not having a haircut.
But now I think I do want a haircut. There is always at least one hair in my mouth and one invisible one somewhere on my face causing twitching and clawing at my cheeks, and collectively it’s becoming a tangled and stringy mess the longer it gets. I feel like I live my life peering through a curtain of hair– most often when I’m leaning over looking for something or discussing pressing issues with a two-year-old. Which is about 75% of my time. Not to mention I’m spending waaaaaay more time in the shower than I’d like during our hectic morning scramble, just trying to wash/ rinse/ condition/ rinse.
Now to figure out if I trust the bang-trim lady to do the short-short. I’ll keep you posted, I know you’re on the edge of your seat.
In other news, I either have a rotten but suspiciously intermittent cold or I am allergic to something in my own home. I’m guessing the Christmas Tree, but I might also place blame on the balls of dog and cat hair rolling lazily from one room to the next, sometimes being mistaken for whole animals all on their own, as in, “Holy Shit, when did we get a guinea pig?” Or maybe the dust, inevitable lurking mold, something. I am sneezing violent, unpredictable sneezes and living life in a big fog at the moment.
But, Christmas is upon us, and I have not created the Advent wreath I was dreaming of for Birdy (though she made quick work of all 24 days of her Advent Calendar), Have not created, purchased, or mailed a single Christmas card (and won’t), have purchased exactly ONE gift which is for Bird which happens to be the most awesome sock monkey ever from the Farmer’s Market. Soon enough we can remove the tree and see if I’m still blowing out candles from across the room. It might not hurt to dust and vacuum, as well.
Speaking of the Holidays, we are going home, of course. 10 days of touring Indiana from top to bottom– lots of time in the car and out of a suitcase from house to house to house and back again. And the more I think about all of it and the closer it gets, I have no desire to do any of it. Not the packing, not the drive, not the giving, not the receiving, not the sleeping in a hundred different beds (or rather NOT sleeping– I have a toddler, you know), not the eating pounds of bullshit that makes my body work poorly, not the hugging and the happy voice and the realizing I’ve forgotten to pack a bra, not the ten solid days without a moment to myself, without a private moment with my husband, without a quiet moment with my kid. I love being with all of my nearest and dearest, I do– but this year I just don’t want to go.
There, I said it.