I left work today with the distinct impression that I'd made progress! It's a sunny warm day with a slight breeze. My weekend also starts today since I'm flying out to a wedding tomorrow morning.
I walked down the prettiest street in my neighborhood on my way home from the train. The home owners on that street have been busy planting flowering bushes - I even passed by three girls helping out their parents in the front yard, all three girls wearing shirts that said "Harvard", and arguing about where to put the next plant. Fresh paint jobs abound, especially the buttercream yellow house with the round turret and inviting front patio. Guys in the street tossing around a football.
I popped open a beer and smoked a cigarette on my deck as soon as I got home. And now I'm writing even though I have nothing in particular to write.
I've been preparing for my upcoming trip to Italy (by the by, I'll post pics on my flickr page when I get back). These preparations entail tour books, google searches, checking the forecast repeatedly, making lists of things to pack, checking to see whether my passport is still valid, and mentally preparing myself for what my mother will find to complain about. Last time, she hated Florence. She will _never_ go back to Florence.
But the main thing I am worried about is which of the following she will criticize the most: my hair, my weight, my clothes, my skin, my teeth, or something else? I believe she means well. She equates looking good with feeling good, and what good mother doesn't want their daughter to feel good?
She's also said, "If your mother doesn't tell you, no one will." Only a Mom is in a position to be personally, crushingly insulting.
Don't get me wrong, I love my Mom, but most of the things she says could use some "work" are things I'm already sufficiently self-conscious about. After all, I see myself in the mirror every day, and every woman I know can point to 50 things wrong with herself when looking in a mirror.
She's going to tell me I need a hair cut. I know I need a hair cut, I've been putting it off for ages. Because I hate the stylist I went to last time, and (like all other women) I fear new hair stylists. Despite that, what I've discovered is that I like having my hair long. It may not be the most "flattering" style for my face/age/shape/etc., but it feels good. And that's the whole point, isn't it?
I like that my hair doesn't look the same two days in a row. It just does it's own thing. I like that when it's down, it's kind of chaotic. Sunlight makes it look all sorts of different shades of brown and red (and it's really difficult to find the couple gray hairs in there.) It moves with a nice breeze. I can cover my face with it. Or just feel it brush my my shoulders. When I put it up in a pony tail - for one, cool, I can put it up in a pony tail! - it bounces when I walk. When I turn my head, it swings from one shoulder to the other. Lately, the pony tail has been preferring one side over the other so it kind of drapes over my left shoulder, and it might look stupid, but it feels great. I can put it up and take it down 50 times a day if I want, like I did in high school, and that reminds me of Mr. Percival, my Astronomy teacher senior year, who was one of the nicest teachers I ever had despite sending me to the Vice Principal's office for skipping class too many times (astronomy was before first period (or homeroom), who can get up that early _every_ day?). He also was the supervisor for the "Principles of Technology" class a friend of mine created, and I took later in the day, which meant he was supposed to see me twice a day - sometimes, obviously, he only saw me once, but one of the days he saw me twice he stopped to look at me, baffled, and asked me how many times I would put my hair up and then take it down in a given day. At the end of the year, he showed 2001 in Astronomy, which I slept through. He was a great teacher. Even he realized how much I like to play with my hair. The more there is to play with, the better.
I've come to the conclusion that there are approximately two people reading this blog. I might as well just write whatever bullshit I want instead of waiting until I have something smart to say.
