Bad Hair Day

It is indeed. I think perhaps I need to find someone new to cut it. One week ago today I was completely happy with my hair; I remember because I had a lengthy phone conversation with Peter and we discussed, among other things, my hair, with which I was pleased. (It says a lot for our friendship that we can discuss my hair and our mutual hatred for Ann Coulter in the same conversation ...) I never can seem to figure out what I have done differently on the days I like it. Though today my guess is it has to do with how long I wait to dry it; since my days are my own, I often let it air dry then finish it up. Is that my mistake? Whatever it is, I even sank so low last night as to contemplate trimming my own bangs. And I have enough bad high school memories to know that is never an answer!

You know the worst part of this: No one else even notices. Which means that even on the days I think my hair looks great, it really doesn't. Or, conversely, on the days I think it looks terrible, I look stunning. N'est ce pas?

I thought not.

But other than the hair, once I get past it, everything else has gone OK today. I worked a lot this morning, editing articles. And, I am pleased to report, they need very little work. The writers I have are very enthusiastic and, consequently, do good work. I still have some stuff to finish up (such as, writing my own stories ...) but it will get done. All in good time. Though the due date is fast approaching. I work best on a deadline.

It's the weekend, which means two full days of opportunity. Alison wants to see Superman at the IMAX; her birthday is approaching and she is worried that it won't be there anymore, so we're going to celebrate early. We need to get the invitations out for Sylvia's belated party. And we need to watch Hotel Rwanda that we've had from Netflix for more than a month. This weekend, it gets watched or it goes. And this time, unlike the last three weekends, I mean it.

Not sure what else the weekend holds. I think I'll let it surprise me.