- "Long Way Around," The Dixie Chicks

I'm currently trying to grow my hair out. It's been short-ish for years now, and I'm getting bored with it. No matter how creatively I cut it, with little flippies and layers and odd pieces and cool angles and shaggy fringe....it's just not turning me on right now. I've even been really lazy about dying, because I'm just not loving my hair. So, we're growing it out.

Interestingly, this has coincided with my discovery of the fact that all of the layers currenlty involved don't look like total crap if I don't blow dry them out with a round brush. For the past couple months, I've been letting it all air dry. Now, when I air dry my hair, I usually just sort of finger comb it, so that it can keep what natural wave and flippy-ness it has, and doesn't turn into lifeless, limp, stringy ugliness. The upshot of all of this is that I haven't actually brushed my hair in a couple months.

I know that makes it sound like my hair must be some weird tangled mess....mostly because when I think of people who don't brush their hair, homeless bums and dreadlock-sporting hippies come to mind. Strangely enough, my hair seems to agree with the non-brushing. Probably because I wash and overcondition it every day, it's tangle-free and in its usual shiny condition. Amazing.

I was looking at my hairbrush the other day, and it was sort of alien. I almost forgot why I have it. I'm taking a big trip in the next couple weeks, and I put it on the packing list....but I'm not sure why.

"Will the real Shady please stand up
And put one of those fingers on each hand up
And be proud to be out of your mind and out of control"

- "The Real Slim Shady," Eminem

I went to a theater opening last night with a friend. The show was thought-provoking and I'm still mulling over aspects of it, which is a good thing and I enjoy that....but this show in particular tapped some of my buttons. One of the characters was some kind of schizophrenic, and inevitably that brings up a lot of baggage and filters and issues for me. The actor actually gave a pretty accurate performance, getting down some of the quirks of someone with that particular brand of mental instability to a degree that's probably only appreciated by a few select members of the audience.

Opening night schmooze was going on both before and after, showcasing one of the things I like least about the theater world. I have very little tolerance for that kiss-kiss pretentiousness...the dubious "honor" of meeting and speaking with playwrights, actors, artistes...it gets old. I mean, where there's genuine space for dialogue or conversation about the substance of a piece or the performances, I love that - analysis is my middle name! But, especially on opening night, it always feels to me like it's about self-congratulation and ego and "look how tortured and artistic I am, don't you just want to fall down and worship at my feet??"

I sometimes want to remind these types (and to be clear, I don't think ALL theater folk are this way...many are smart, funny, and way cool!) that not only do they piss first thing in the morning like everyone else, but that they also have not been able to get a copyright on human suffering. Please.

"And what about your soul
Is it cold
Is it straight from the mold
And ready to be sold?"

- "Gone," Jack Johnson

My nose stayed mucus-free for five straight minutes today - twice! I begin to hope that I'll be all better by the time camp rolls around. Yay!

This morning was the first time in a week I heard my alarm clock go off; the rest of the week, I woke up before it went off, and spared myself the annoyance. I got home later than usual last night, though, and so to bed later, and slept later. It's amazing to me how much I enjoy avoiding the clock, though. I wake up and have a nice stretch among the ten or so pillows, soft blankets, and plush flannel sheets. I scratch the catlings' noses and ears and chins, and that odd spot they like that's between their eyes and ears. I roll out of bed, start the coffeemaker, water the plants, feed the cats, sit on the back porch with my coffee and check my e-mail....it's this lovely, grounding domestic scene. I adore it.

Awhile back, I went to Earth Conclave, a non-denominational spiritual gathering with a focus on earth-based spiritual work, as one might imagine. The focus of the event was on the everyday sacred, the magic inherent in the rituals of mundane life. It reminded me of those moments I have when my breath is taken away by the beauty of some seemingly insignificant object or situation...and how there really is magic in every atom of the universe, despite humanity's willingness to ignore it.

This explains why having a cup of coffee while admiring how quickly my forget-me-nots are sprouting up is so very satisfying.

Recent entries...
27 December 2007: 2007: Finis.
17 December 2007: A ruse, a rant, and a poem. It's short.
11 December 2007: Music & falling....story of my life.
08 December 2007: Briefly...ish.
29 November 2007: A poem, a rant, a lesson.