Trim

I am totally jonesing for a haircut. I love getting my hair cut. It is a simple, quick, relatively painless way of feeling just a little bit re-born.

I dreamed last night that I went in to get a haircut and the woman just started cutting without me saying what I wanted. But I didn’t say anything to her. I didn’t stop her. I looked around the salon to see if there was someone nearby whom I could say something to, or if anyone else had noticed that the woman had just started cutting sans consultation. But no one was around. She was giving me a pixie cut with very short bangs. I haven’t had bangs since I was in seventh grade, but I think about getting them all the time. So I was watching her and it actually looked really good. But then I realized that the face on my head was not actually mine. It was a face that would look good with a pixie cut, with small and defined features, not all soft and round like my actual face.

Hmmm.

Then I woke up all uneasy feeling and I realized the alarm had not been set. And that I had to be at a meeting in an hour.

I’m working on taking leaps of faith right now—with everything: employment, relationships, and artistic projects. I’m trying not to second guess. I’m tempering my skepticism. Trying to. At least.