I always loved my hair the day I had a haircut scheduled. I would spend the entire day staring in the mirror thinking, "Damn. I look GOOD. Why should I mess with this?" So, I stopped scheduling haircuts. I've spent the last few years as a walk-in. Haircuts have become my spur-of-the-moment, fuck-the-world response to living.I think that sort of trickled into other aspects of my life...like moving. Since moving is a little more momentous than a haircut, "I Love My Hair Day" has expanded to "I Love My Life Week".
As soon as you know the scissors are coming, you suddenly don't want to cut it.
I just had the perfect weekend. Literally, I walked in my door ten minutes ago singing "I Could Have Danced All Night". I spent every single minute of this weekend surrounded by friends. My body looks so good, I ran in a TANK TOP. I had dinner with the woman who inspired me to be an actor and saw The Book of Mormon for the first time (and I didn't throw anything at the stage!)
I can't remember the last time I felt this happy and loved and thin
and I have never been more scared in my entire life that I could be making the biggest mistake ever by walking away again.
I scheduled a haircut for next Wednesday. It's my last night in Chicago. I know I will spend the entire day looking in the mirror thinking, "Damn. Life is GOOD. Why should I mess with this?"
The best thing about friendships is that they always grow back, just like hair. Even when you have to shorten them, it's never long before they're back in your face and irritating the shit out of you.
And I have AMAZING hair...friends.
OK I also started drinking,
TJB: Making It
