Mum, I got a haircut!

Bleurg, bleurg, bleurg. What a horrible, horrible Monday. I'm definitely doing too much, but unfortunately nothing can be dropped: essays need to be read for and written, class-work needs to be completed, revision needs to get started, dinners need to be cooked, washed-up and eaten, food shopping needs to be done, as does laundry, as does cleaning, jobs need to be applied for (in multiple languages) apartments need to be found, money for NYMT needs to be raised then I need to actually enjoy University and be a TEENY bit sociable. When I'm stressed I am the scattiest person alive, no matter how hard I try I keep losing things, stressing, then finding them again a day or two later. If people could pray that I no longer lose things I would be very grateful, I can't take any more heart-palptations over a misplaced pen! 

In other news, I got a haircut. Mum's been whinging about how gammy my hair's been looking lately, ironically everyone at uni thought the bedraggled, curly look was pretty rad. Nevertheless, I thought I'd keep the split-ends happy and pop along to Hair On The Hill for a quick trim (they're so great over there and so reasonable too!) However, it's been so long since I've had a hair cut that I completely forgot the trauma one goes through over losing an inch off the scalp-beard. Every time I leave the hairdressers I am absolutely convinced that I look like this...

 So I strut down the street like Bruce Almighty with all my 'you-go-girl' music blasting in my ears, flicking my hair and swinging my hips to Beyonce, The Pussycat Dolls and Taylor Swift, only to reach my bedroom mirror to discover that I actually look like this...

 Traumatised by the shorter style, which has now frizzed up on the rather exuberant walk home, I stare at the mirror despondent and horrified. 'I'm ruined' I cry, 'how will I EVER show my face again?' with this I slump into the kitchen to make a cup of tea and shed a few pathetic tears at the fact that I can now actually see through my fringe. With the genesis of this hair depression, I angrily tie it up in a pony-tail and get on with the rest of the day. A few hours later I absentmindedly remove the scrunchie and catch a glimpse of myself in the kitchen window ACTUALLY looking like this...

Grips are gotten, reality is checked and the haircut no longer seemed like such a disastrous idea. Thanks Mum, you're the best!