I did not wake up yesterday morning and think, “You know what I should do today? Cut four inches off my hair.” And yet, that is what happened.
I have to make a distinction here, because I’m afraid you read that as, “I’m going to go have a professional cut four inches off my hair,” and that is not what I meant. I meant I personally cut four inches off my hair. Yes. I, the person who is so particular about her hair that she can’t commit to getting a simple bang trim, just went and lopped it off with no deliberation whatsoever. About 3/4 of the way through the procedure I had a moment of out-of-body clarity, wherein a distant voice in my head screamed, “WHAT IN GOD’S NAME ARE YOU DOING?” But I did not listen. The weather was warm. I was wearing capris. For some reason those two things meant it was time for a haircut.
I’m not sure if I regret it yet. I don’t know how good a job I did. I’ll be seeing my entire family tomorrow (I didn’t think about that either. I think by now it’s pretty clear I wasn’t thinking about anything), so I’ll see how they react.