"Acceptance is usually more a matter of fatigue than anything else."
I guess my hair does actually look better than it did before. I still hate it, but I'm trying to make peace.
It pleases Steven. That's good enough for me.
He vetoed my decision to wear a wig, but approved of this instead: http://www.amazon.com/Accoutrements-12027-Horse-Head-Mask/dp/B003G4IM4S/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1324230264&sr=8-1
Also, I wrote the salon a lengthy email detailing the trauma their retarded stylist inflicted upon me, and now they're apologizing profusely and offering to manage the damage so I'll be less homicidally enraged. I'm skeptical and full of distrust, but since I have nothing to lose, I said they're welcome to try. I suppose they'll be calling me soon.
What a fucking debacle.
In other news, my poetry professor wanted to know what I'm writing about in my assessed essay. I said that I have no idea, and that I'm verging on throwing in the towel on this grad school thing and living in my parents' basement until I can put myself back together again and figure out an alternative future for myself, because I'm facing the worst writing freeze I've ever had and there may not be a way out.
What's sad is that only part of that is untrue.
My parents don't have a basement.
It's like, I just don't have any ambition anymore. Thoughts-wise. My brain doesn't have ideas.
And I'm astonished by the recollection that it once did. Thinking of what it's like to have ideas when you presently have none is a weird thing.
I wonder if this is related to the unnerving frequency of déjà vu I've been experiencing. Even now, just staring at this screen, I was overwhelmed with a terrible feeling of déjà vu. I get this every 48 hours or so. Is it related to the sudden change in neural chemicals? I'm doing very well with my medication taper. I'm down to a quarter of my previous therapeutic dose, and my sleep is deep and restful. Next week, I'll be drug-free entirely. I assumed my brain would be happy with this turn of events, seeing as it's no longer being anesthetized with sedatives.
Why the sudden betrayal? Is it a punishment for feeling so vacuously depressed for a month?
As if that's even my fault!
Maybe it's just my short-term memory learning to function again.
As for my marital affairs, I have no idea what's going on anymore. Every time I think I have it all figured out, something totally unexpected happens. This is pleasant, because I hate being right (one of the rare delights of the embittered cynic: being proven wrong in any given situation is always good, because what you expect and predict is always bad), but unpleasant because I'm continually on the alert. I've become hyper-sensitive to change. The slightest difference in my husband's mien is cause for concern. One untoward word and everything could be ruined. I'm living in a glass house with eggshell carpeting.
And in the middle of that I have to also face what's wrong with myself and try to fix it so I can get something done.
All of this is because of my hair. I can feel it.
I think about this a lot:
"Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won't know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source."
There's nothing in there that suggests the life-destroying choices can't be small ones.