This song keeps popping in my head when I sleep. It's been the song in my head when I wake up recently. I don't know why.
So I went to the beauty college this morning to get my hair cut. It's cheap but takes a long time. I told the gal I want it short. Yes, short. No, shorter than that. Cut all that part off. I explain it's been a long time since my last haircut, it's grown out a lot longer than I want it. But these sissy bitches don't take me seriously when I say short. I sat in the chair while the instructor, the student assigned to my head, and one or two other students with more experience chopped on my hair for a while.
The chatter was about children. I'm not in a good place regarding children these days. They's all crazy. Babies are OK as long as they're someone else's babies and I don't spend too terribly much time with them. Babies and toddlers are cute. Anything approaching teenage is terrifying. These ladies in the beauty chop had misbehaving children on their minds. I hate it. My kids are crazy bad. Maybe it's my fault they're so bad, maybe I take them too seriously. Maybe I don't take them seriously enough. Comparing my kids to those of others is depressing. Hell, just bringing up the topic of my kids is depressing.
Eventually I accepted my gal Brenda's work on my head. Yes, that's good. Thanks so much. I left a small tip. I came home. Kept running my fingers through my hair. Looked in the bathroom mirror. The top of my head looked square. It parts on the left, and the hair on the right side of my head was bumped up, squaring the form of my head. It needed to be shorter there. Hell, it needed to be shorter in lots of places.
Yes, I did.
I scooted a few things out of the way, then put a towel-sized piece of fabric (towels have too much nap and catch and hold loose hairs) over the sink and counter in my bathroom. I got my small sharp sewing scissors and started cutting. Clip-clip here, grab a chunk and snip away at it there. This seems longer than the other side. No, wait, I thought she shortened that bit more. It needs trimming. More snip-snip, clip-clip. Covered all over with short hairs. I hate that part. Itched like crazy. Finally figured I'd better stop clipping before it got too ugly.
I shook out the hair-covered fabric off the back patio, then took of my shirt and shook it out, too. I dazzled the neighbors' back yards with my fat body in nothing but my undergarments for a minute there. Don't think anyone saw me, don't care if they did. I came back in for another shower and shampoo. The head didn't look too terrible when wet, and now that it's dry it looks, well, not too terrible I think. Maybe. But I can't see it well.
Superman came home for lunch. He noticed my haircut, but didn't notice that I cut it myself. That's a good sign, but not proof that it isn't butchered. Diva's case worker says it doesn't look too bad, and I trust her opinion about hair more than I trust Superman's.
Diva got her hair did last weekend. She's all kinds of proud of it now, and wanted me to take her picture and post it here for all to admire. So here she is.
My doctor sent me to a physical therapist for my back. I've never done PT before. Had my first appointment this afternoon. It was relatively painless, but took a long time. The feller says we're going to work on strengthening my back muscles and stretching (gently) to increase range of motion. I have simple exercises to do throughout the day. Twenty seconds at a time every hour or two. I can handle that, methinks. I see the physical therapist tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. and Friday at 9 a.m.
My kids are home from school now and are irritating me. Sproing is springing and clapping loudly and yelling and arguing. Diva is quiet, but Sproing is arguing about her. He's been mouthing off to her and her social worker. "I'm just kidding." No, son, that behavior is disrespectful and annoying. But he won't hear me. He's too busy yelling at me to listen, and blames everything on others.
I'll write more about my crazy in another post. I felt very very crazy when I started writing at noon, but now I'm too distracted, too numbed by over-stimulation. And I wanted to try to write about it. I need to figure WTF it's about.
