The one about (sort of) quitting Facebook

Why quit something that's not necessarily evil? Er, we don't know that for sure. Anyway, I've found Facebook to be an easy scapegoat for writer's block, and so I decided to deactivate my account temporarily. It was also in part an experiment on depriving myself of a perverse pleasure (I feel more comfortable commenting on my friends' posts than engaging them from across the table). Maria Ressa likened Facebook to a dopamine shot. I'm not there yet, and I wouldn't want to be. I'm typing now on a blog, aren't I? I'm making progress.

The one with the Alanis song

I did laundry earlier today with music on earphones and an acoustic version of an Alanis Morissette song came on. I remember listening to the regular cranky version of the song on bad days, many years ago. I used to sing the cranky versions with girl friends, with exaggerated emotion as one might with angry girl music. But like I said, that was ages ago. Oh the naiveté of youth—when you think you HAVE problems, when you think you know pain. After you have lived through real problems, and you hear a song with some meaning bursting through from between the lines, you grin inwardly and think, now is the time for such a song. And you have the right stash of emotion to back it up. And one need not have followed everything that Alanis recommended.#

The one with the bad haircut

The only thing I go to salons for is to have my hair cut. I don't have my nails done, I don't get hair treatments (I think these two so far are pretty obvious), and I especially don't let other people do my makeup—not even for my wedding.

And so it makes me very very upset (#hulksmash) when I finally decide to let go a little—after about a year of cutting my own hair—and the professional i was counting on still gives me freshly harvested rice fields when I specifically asked for a very particular (i.e., Carey Mulligan) pixie cut.

I had used all possible aids—pictures, descriptions, a wig—to help my case, but somehow did not get through. I still walk out of the salon looking as if someone was holding a clipper behind me when a firecracker went off.#

The one where i decide to go back to blogging

For the times I want to share in a safe though smaller space.