Weepy, Whiny...and, perhaps, Annoying. Reader beware.

Today I got a free haircut. Before you congratulate me, listen to my tale...

What I needed was a bang trim--what I got was yet another pirate haircut, arrrrgh.

I'm not sure what happened: was the hairdresser as bummed by the gray skies as I was? Was he having a bad hair year too? Was he too suffering from freshly-washed-jeans-shrinkage (you know what I'm talking about) that made him feel chubbier than usual? What series of events conspired to turn a simple trimming of fringe into a major hack job? And...will I ever learn not to use rhetorical questions? (Not bloody likely.) All these factors (gray skies, general bad hair, and jean shrinkage), managed to liquefy my usually steadfast resolution that everything is OKAY. So, I did what any unreasonably depressed grad student would do...I opened my thesis, clicked on 'tools', and opened the word-count function. This month's total words contributed to my thesis? 550. The comment card I filled out at Booster Juice yesterday was more substantial.

The thing is that I started the day off on the wrong foot. By which I mean, I started the day with self-inflicted guilt over missing an agreed upon exercise date. (Some of you may be tempted to attribute this guilt to a Catholic infused upbringing, but really I'm just a masochist.) That's right, I slept in. I slept in quite a bit, then I had cookies for breakfast...which may or may not have contributed to the jean shrinkage issue. But the thing is that through one guilt-ridden moment, I've somehow confounded my day into a weepy, gray mess--and it need not have been so. Is it possible, at this point, to blame my hormones? Can I do that even though theoretically, or I should say ideologically, I'm entirely opposed to that sort of an explanation? Is it better to be a lowly creature controlled by its reproductive system than a depressed graduate student who just can't think of a good reason to wake up before ten-thirty in the morning? No, it can't be better. I've thought a lot about it and I think I'd rather be maladjusted and lazy than a slave to my hormones.

All in all, and despite the rather nice hazelnut cappuccino I enjoyed with I'd-rather-read-the-paper Lindell, Kate the Great, and the indomitable Lyler, it was a pretty crap day and I shan't torture my beloved readership with any more of it. Good day, sir.



I said, GOOD DAY!!!