Pictures of Hair on Adrenaline
I just watched five minutes of the new TLC show, Date Patrol.One of the judges said that in order to make this subject (a woman) more dateable, she would have to learn how to be more vulnerable. Whaaa? Those shows should come with barf bags.
Oh, if you are wondering about the title, I have started this new thing. I realized that I was making nonsensical, bizarre phrases to remember what I was going to put in my posts. Thought it would be funny to start using them as titles whenever I made them up.
I got a hair cut today. There is a lot to be said for having short hair. Then again, there is also a lot to be said about long hair. The fact that I have a huge skull that has a rather T-Rexish shape to it doesn't help. But whatever. It's less work and my hair usually doesn't work when growing long. For some reason, it rejects the forces of gravity and grows upwards. Yeah. Long hair days are long gone for me.
You know you have hit a new low when this begins to happen. When you feel sick just looking at a picture of yourself. I don't think I will ever feel good about myself. Maybe it's just not something I do. Then again, I am ugly. There is no denying it. It's funny because sometimes I feel like I have trained my eyes to look at myself a certain way that doesn't nauseate me. When I look at myself in the mirror, there is always a certain angle, a certain lift to the chin. It's those moments that are captured on film, or even those sudden glimpses at an unfettered reflection that send my spiraling. I really do feel sick. And there is not much I can do about it. I look like my parents. They aren't beautiful people. I can try and try, but I will still have the heinous features I was born with. Maybe I could just avoid cameras. Or smash my face in with a brick. Both viable options right now.
I think I am an adrenaline junkie. I just can't get any work done unless there is a looming deadline, and the face of failure is so real. I am always teetering on the brink of disaster, and I suppose I am addicted to walking that thin line. I suppose in a way it's the perfect thing because I do want to work as a journalist, which is a deadline-driven business to the extreme. Where it doesn't help is the fact that I am a perfectionist, and when combined with last-minute work, perfectionism can be rather frustrating. I am going to kill myself one of these days with these last minute one nighters.
Oh, if you are wondering about the title, I have started this new thing. I realized that I was making nonsensical, bizarre phrases to remember what I was going to put in my posts. Thought it would be funny to start using them as titles whenever I made them up.
I got a hair cut today. There is a lot to be said for having short hair. Then again, there is also a lot to be said about long hair. The fact that I have a huge skull that has a rather T-Rexish shape to it doesn't help. But whatever. It's less work and my hair usually doesn't work when growing long. For some reason, it rejects the forces of gravity and grows upwards. Yeah. Long hair days are long gone for me.
You know you have hit a new low when this begins to happen. When you feel sick just looking at a picture of yourself. I don't think I will ever feel good about myself. Maybe it's just not something I do. Then again, I am ugly. There is no denying it. It's funny because sometimes I feel like I have trained my eyes to look at myself a certain way that doesn't nauseate me. When I look at myself in the mirror, there is always a certain angle, a certain lift to the chin. It's those moments that are captured on film, or even those sudden glimpses at an unfettered reflection that send my spiraling. I really do feel sick. And there is not much I can do about it. I look like my parents. They aren't beautiful people. I can try and try, but I will still have the heinous features I was born with. Maybe I could just avoid cameras. Or smash my face in with a brick. Both viable options right now.
I think I am an adrenaline junkie. I just can't get any work done unless there is a looming deadline, and the face of failure is so real. I am always teetering on the brink of disaster, and I suppose I am addicted to walking that thin line. I suppose in a way it's the perfect thing because I do want to work as a journalist, which is a deadline-driven business to the extreme. Where it doesn't help is the fact that I am a perfectionist, and when combined with last-minute work, perfectionism can be rather frustrating. I am going to kill myself one of these days with these last minute one nighters.