I had a dream Sunday night in which David Cook was my mailman and he kept yelling at my door from the mail box, asking if I was "Liz Sperge" (or something like that) and I kept yelling back that that wasn't my name so he was like "FINE I'LL JUST TAKE ALL THESE PACKAGES BACK TO KOREA THEN." It was kind of odd.
Also, I sliced my hand open pretty bad sometime earlier this week, causing myself great difficulty when I brushed my hair. For those who don't know, I have had about two and a half feet of thick, curly hair that can't go two hours without getting tangled. So you can imagine how essential this chore is, despite how much it kills my wrist sometimes, but that's another story entirely. Anyway, so I asked my mother if she would help me brush it, and because I haven't had my hair trimmed in something like eight years, she told me that she should do it to even it out and cut off the dead ends. I am usually very careful around people with scissors for the very reason that I have never gotten a good haircut, but for some reason I said okay. AND SHE CUT OFF LIKE SEVEN TO NINE INCHES OF MY BEAUTIFUL HAIR. WHATTHEHELLWOMAN!??! MY HAIR. MY BEAUTIFUL HAIR.
She seems to be fine with it. She keeps asking how it "feels". Well, ma, it "feels" like I have been betrayed by you and your evil scissors and it "feels" like I will never be able to grow it all back again. It takes forever to grow my hair out because it has to grow in the curly, non-direct way. And I just lost a significant amount of it.
It is easier to take care of, though. I'll give her that much.