It’s Been A Week.
I only cried with the feeling of an overwhelming impending doom clouded over my existence like seventeen times this week. So, that’s a plus.
This week was that type of week where it was Monday seven minutes ago, where your anxiety went bungee jumping off of a cliff, where the thought of the gym sounds brutal and where you cope with trying to take control of anything. So I coped by chopping my hair, drowning in Diet Coke, and booking a cruise ship room with a balcony. In other words,
This week was brought to you by the Coca Cola company, Great Clips, and Carnival Cruise lines.
Yeah, so let’s start with the cruise. Chelsie, God love her, decided to let me know something about our room that gave me major anxiety. Then she let me know that for only a little more money, we could get a room with a view. Actually, with a balcony, but ya know… Here’s some truth for you: I’m buying this room. Not because of the original reason that gave me anxiety, but because of Instagram. I. Have. Hit. A. New. Life. Low. And all you females who are going on vacation have thought the exact same thing, I’m just the only one who says it.
Also, I was doing pretty solid with cutting the amount of Diet Coke that I was drinking out of my diet. I just want to document here and now that because life hit me in the face, I hit back by drowning my sorrows in Diet Coke. I know, I’m well aware that I’m drinking cancer and deteriorating my bones and there’s a million other reasons that I’m going to die from aspertame. Got it, let me die happy, thanks.
Lastly, let’s talk about my hair.
My hair is like this love-hate relationship in my life. When I was in high school, my hair accidentally got dyed black. (The box said dark brown, I swear) I had to cut it decently short because the roots were brutal and I looked like I never got over the emo phase. Ever since then, I vowed to never have short hair again. I went about 4 years without cutting my hair, and it was 90% dead. It was long though, and I figured that was all that mattered. Pretty girls have long hair. Every single time I went in for a trim, I would leave in tears if they cut more than two inches. Considering I had about 16 inches of dead hair, these women looked at me like I was nuts. I am not lying. The last four times I went to get my hair cut, I cried.
For the past year, I’ve told Dylan I was going to cut it. Every single time he’d straighten it, he’d beg me to. (Yes, Dylan does straighten my hair. Almost every single time. #blessed) In the last couple weeks though, I’ve had enough. It’s too long, too frizzy, too thick, and too much to handle. So I woke up this morning and figured if I didn’t do it them, I wouldn’t do it at all.. So, I decided to cut it. It’s not long.
I feel like I’ve got my mom hair now. I’m married, with my mom body, with my mom hair, and all I need is a baby. (Not yet) And I actually feel really pretty. My nine years of fears of “short hair will make you look heavier” are gone. I mean my hair isn’t short but it’s definitely not long. This girl’s got her mojo back. (Can you lose your mojo at 25?)
Also, in the world of blogging- I was supposed to post a #getFIT post today, but ya’ll have learned that the gym and I weren’t friends this week. Bye Felicia, maybe tomorrow. Add it to the list of this shitastic week. Is that how you spell shitastic?
Moral of the story,
This week was a piece of work. I cried about things that didn’t even need to be cried about. I literally laid my head on my desk at work and cried about crying. I took the thought of the gym, and buried it all the way in the back of my brain. Diet Coke was my main food group. I made sure that I am set up for a plethora of Instragram pictures on the ship. Most importantly, sometimes you just need a good haircut to feel pretty again.