10:02 p.m. - Thursday, Apr. 22, 2004
She Bang
I just finished my third final. So much relief. I spewed a bunch of shit about Degaulle, and Thatcher, and the Algerian War, and the Faulkland War, and the IMF, and FNL, and OAS, and now I am sapped. I am going to smoke so much dope tonight, I'm just going to roll an electronic fibrillator up to the couch, just in case. And then tomorrow it all begins again - the agitation, the fatigue, the uncertainty - because Monday is my American History final. But then I'M DONE.
Then begins the revelry, and I'm going to do so many great and disturbing things over the course of next week that I will veritably blow your mind. I mean it. Prepare to be blown. Your mind I mean.
I cut my bangs last night. Why do I always do that. I mean, I guess they don't look bad, I don't know, its hard for me to to judge because I'm OCD, and I pretty much focus on every detail of them that even has the potential to be remotely fucked up, like maybe I cut too far back at the sides, or they're too short, or whatever. But like, since I know I'm all crazy like that, what possesses me to take the cissors and cut my own hair with them in the first place? Its really nerve racking. And now i've had this faintly ill feeling all day. I just can't shake the notion that my hair looks vaguely like Hitler's. They're really short, and maybe sort of sprouty? And I was growing them out. Like, I purposely had the intention of growing them out. Plus I'd just gotten past the awkward stage, and they were looking pretty sexy. Whatever, I just got bored, or stressed, or something. Its practically a form of self mutilation. Yeah, they're fucking short. But I like really short bangs, so I guess I don't hate them? But they really might go to far back at the sides. I don't know. I'm pretty concerned about the Hitler thing, no joke.
