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9:33 p.m. - Saturday, Nov. 01, 2003
Cut my Hair
Since the time change, the sun sets while I'm riding the train home. By the time I get to the G*ry station, the darkness outside has turned the train windows into dim mirrors reflecting the well-lit contents of the train. I was gathering up my things as my station approached when I glimpsed the reflection of a woman in the window, and the automatic part of my brain had said, "Poor homely broad," before the thinking part said, "Hey, wait a minute, that's ME!"

Son of a b*tch. I had to do SOMETHING. There's not much I can do, since I'm unwilling to spend the money for plastic surgery. So I cut my hair. It's a slight improvement.

I just LOVE* those people who say things like, "Along about the age of 23, I began to realize that my long, graceful, swan-like neck was really beautiful, not ugly as I had always assumed throughout my high school and college days." I'm still waiting for that moment of enlightenment when I suddenly realize that my short, lumpy neck is actually beautiful.

'sfunny, but when I was about 23 and had just discovered the villanelle, I wrote one, a bad one, but just for fun, and it was on the topic of being pretty -- because I WAS pretty in those days -- on the fact that it made people (especially men) be nicer to me than I deserved, that I was assuming I would always be pretty, and that if I lost my looks, I'd be screwed. I wrote it from the perspective of believing that I would never have anything going for me except my looks. So in a way I suppose that moment of clarity has come, but it didn't make my short neck suddenly look swanlike; it was, rather, the realization that over the years I acquired so much more, in terms of intelligence, education, insight and indifference to the stupid things in life, that my looks ceased to matter. So my poor lumpy neck may as well be swanlike, for all I care.




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