First day high.
Here I am stressing about things that I would ordinarily regard as banalities; things that are of little or no importance. For the past hour (or two, I am not keeping count), I find myself asking questions like, "Should I wear the white pants and the frilly top tomorrow?" "Or my gray pencil skirt paired with the light pink blazer, perhaps?" "Hair up or hair down?" "If they ask what my nickname is, do I stick with just Bev or do I say Bang (which almost always ends up morphing into Bebang, often used by closest of friends and kin but I find ugly anyway)?" "How, by the way, am I going to keep up with the impeachment trial now?"
It's been a while since I've done this, is all.
It's been said that a woman who chops her hair is about to change her life. Allow me to chuckle for I, in all my 25 years, have never allowed my hair to grow past my shoulders. Except now. I equate this with commitment. Today, my hair. Tomorrow, everything else. Though I'd like to start by committing to be awake by 5:30 a.m. tops on a daily basis.
Baby steps.
It's been a while since I've done this, is all.
It's been said that a woman who chops her hair is about to change her life. Allow me to chuckle for I, in all my 25 years, have never allowed my hair to grow past my shoulders. Except now. I equate this with commitment. Today, my hair. Tomorrow, everything else. Though I'd like to start by committing to be awake by 5:30 a.m. tops on a daily basis.
Baby steps.