sarsaparilla

i can't believe it isn't even noon yet. it's been such a long morning.

i did indeed get my hair cut yesterday. i called ahead as i drove home from work to ask if i needed an appointment or if i could just saunter in whenever i felt like it, to which the receptionist at the "salon" replied, "um yeah, an appointment would definitely be nice," or something to that bitchy effect. i probably shouldn't have given them my business because after that, she passed me on to someone else, who was equally demonic. if i had any principles, i would have called back and cancelled the appointment i was forced to make. however, recently, i've stopped taking on lots of causes that only really hurt me. for instance, for years, i refused to set foot inside a local kohl's because they paved over a giant beautiful marsh to build that monstrosity. i went in the other day with my mom and realized that i should have been boycotting it first and foremost because the clothing it sells is absolutely repulsive.

god, i like stories. i got my hair cut. it's nice. and easy. i like it.

zoe left for providence this morning. we went to starbucks last night to say goodbye and loosely plan some things for when shiza and i fly out there in a few days. i can't believe the train from new york to providence costs fifty dollars. that's the me-equivalent of two or three haircuts, five clearance-racked shirts, or fifty packs of orbit gum, all of which seem to me to be more effective ways to spend that money. i'm excited to go on the trip, but i woke up this morning and suddenly felt really nervous. as much as i talk about how i want to get out of my little town and see the world, going somewhere three thousand miles away from everything familiar is starting to feel daunting.

at 2:30 this afternoon, i have rehearsal for the play. i don't know why i'm doing it again. it's fun and interesting, i suppose, but it's also really time consuming and repetitive (each scene has eight performances a night) and on a more personal note, my lines are terrible. that's really prima donna of me, but i have a bizarre monologue about gloves and shoes and coats, at the end of which i'm supposed to swoon. yes, swoon. and i have to actually say that word, too. it's true that the play is set in 1876, when swooning, the action and the verb, was more prevalent, i guess, but it could have been written better. i think i'm going to change some things around without telling anyone and just wait for the director to get upset with me because i'm ruining her vision. i'll reply with something along the lines of, "it's a museum fundraiser. go downstairs and chill out with a sarsaparilla."