which will bring us back to "do"...

So my haircutter set back the clock and I can't get over it. Harry insists that I post pictures. I hate it. It's not me. My sister is seriously pissing me off by saying I'm stupid to obsess over it and then telling me that she doesn't like it. And singing "do re mi" over and over and over again... argh!

No guy I've talked to so far can tell the difference, but everyone else can see the difference, and agrees that it's not me. I'm more classical, I guess. It's too cute. I like being taken seriously and surprising people with lightness and humor, rather than the other way around.

The ugly, grumpy expression is due to a splitting headache, fatique from having walked about fourty blocks in the cold and spending half an hour waiting for a prescription at RiteAid and then not having it filled, having laryngitis and HATING my haircut. It's not that it's a bad cut. It's just not me. And it will take a long time for it to get back to where it was. I don't really know how long hair takes to grow. My optimistic guess is a few months; my pessimistic one is a year. Great. Just in time for all the alums to come back.

Click to enlarge. I'm using the Blogger photohost instead of PhotoBucket because they disabled me for a few more days.

On a completely unrelated note, Diane Moroff agreed to read my play! I am overjoyed. So far it is only one scene and eight typed pages, but I've written three more scenes that I haven't typed up yet, and they get longer each time I transcribe them.

Dialogue is my greatest foe, and I will conquer it. Before next Thursday 12:00.

Sorry for lazy grammar. I'm exhausted and I can't breath through my left nostril.