Between Frying Pan and Fire

So, I manically need to type this out and get it done so that I will not ruin this streak.  This streak is not something to mess with.  I would…beyond cry if I broke it even for so lovely a reason as going to a Mumford and Sons concert.

It’s already midday and I haven’t done that much, but I have been busy.  Got my hair colored and I feel much more at ease, also got the hair ripped out of my face which makes me feel so much less like Frida Kahlo’s more hirsute cousin and I don’t mind myself so very very much right now despite the fact that I am considering this a day of fallowness and fallibility.   Tomorrow, at this moment, I know I can get back on track and re-defined towards my goals (though I know that the overwhelming emotion that tonight will invoke will be hell towards that plan, but I want to feed on the experience, not let it feed on me) and I know this because even with this vast mandate to fuck around with food – I blew off Starbucks.  It’s just coffee and sugar and diuretics and I am already high as a kite.  Having to stand around for more than a few hours, that cannot possibly be a super great plan.   Yes, I am a deeply aged person, concerned with my fragile bladder situation.

No, seriously, tonight is going to be ridiculously fun and I’ll be so glad that this is done and I can enjoy like the full-on idiot I am.

So, yes, got my hair done and it took a long time.  I meann, I guess I don’t really know how to gauge these things but 2 and a half hours, wow.  Still, my hair is quite silky soft and this kind of blonde that is so lightly slightly tinged strawberry and I feel great.

Then I saw my mother and aunt and it was momentarily weird because my hair salon is across the street from where I work and I didn’t and don’t want to go anywhere near the office on a day I’m on vacation – not only just on principle, but also because I will surely be drafted to fix some piece of equipment or open some email or do one thing and what I want and deeply need is to be my own human being for just a little bit.

So I met them in the parking lot and we went and had lunch and it was lovely and I felt like a real human girl with real human interests and not some mental ward escapee with a lazy eye and a hunchback.  Against my will, even, I felt pretty.

Box I needed to drop off is dropped off, got gas, got my tickets and my liner notes in case (one hopes and prays) I could get an autograph, and no Starbucks as of yet.  How bizarre to just be in the universe, undocumented and beautiful without anyone’s intervention.