Barbie World + [work]

What-is-the-Point Wednesday

I have several unimportant unrelated thoughts that I'm going to share with you today.

First up is a very troubling development.

Coffee, which has become a cherished friend over the past year, is now also my foe.

Like the juvenile I am, I only recently caught on to the allure of coffee. The pleasure of my very own morning ritual, the heavenly smell, the silky creamer. I felt so grown up, drinking coffee.

And then, like most grown up things I try out, it lost some of its appeal. Probably about the time I realized, after 23 heartburn free years, what that particular condition actually feels like. Like a burning heart, some might say.
And when I skipped coffee for a few mornings and it miraculously went away, I knew (my college degree is good for something). My new lover was making my heart literally ache -- is it really worth it? We must ask ourselves these tough questions in an adult relationship.
I just don't know.

All I know is that Starbucks beckons to me every morning in the lobby of our building, its cheerful red cups puffing delicious coffee steam.


Later edit: The mere act of writing about coffee made me powerless against its charms (perhaps that college degree isn't so useful after all)... but rather than get my Christmas blend, black, I opted for the outrageously overpriced but hopefully more heart-friendly caramel brulee latte.
Feel the burn, baby.

Secondly, I have a hair appointment on Saturday morning. And I might get bangs. And whether or not I do, a trim alone strikes unreasonable fear into my heart.
I am what you might call scissor shy. I have a wonderful stylist, but I just don't like getting my hair cut. I know it feels healthier and fuller and better afterward, so I can't really explain why I don't like it (fear of change?)

I've now gone over a year without a trim (I know, I know). My hair has bravely blazed a new frontier over halfway down my back, but it's such a pain to style -- and just to avoid getting caught in things -- that most of my locks never even see the light of day. Instead they resided curled up in what I like to imagine is a stylish bun, but which Kyle loathes and detests with every fiber of his being.
He mostly doesn't say so, but I know these things with wifely intuition. And the look of depression that shadows his face each time I pull out the bobby pins. And the fact that he asks me to wear my hair down on date nights sometimes. It's sort of pitiful.
Here is one version of the bun -- a curly ballerina type concoction.

which unfortunately doesn't look quite as nice from the front...

I'm not sure why I worry about cutting my hair, considering it looks like I don't have any most of the time. But any actual haircut I've ever had -- as opposed to that less frightening trim -- has left me teetering on the edge of mania.
I don't have nice hair. It's sort of wavy, with many patches of severe curls and a few random straight spots. There's a lot of it, but it's fine -- like, cotton candy super fine. It whips around in a slight breeze. It poofs to Tina Turner levels in humidity. It's just very, very frustrating.
I've had bangs twice now -- once in middle school, a barren wasteland of awkwardness and bad image choices, and once my freshman year in college when I impulsively cut them myself (I may or may not have gone off the deep end that day). But I actually rather like them on me.

Here are the sort of bangs I'm envisioning.
It's just... once you cut them, they're THERE. Like, for quite some time. Hi, I have severe commitment issues. On the other hand, it would force me to do my hair more often. Wait, I'm not sure I like that either...
Decisions, decisions.

Thirdly and lastly (and mercifully)...

This feels like the longest work week ever. Is anyone else with me on this? (Is anyone else still reading?)

I'm not sure if it's the lingering affects of my tryptophan-induced coma, or the constant barrage of rain, or the fact that this week has five entire workdays, whereas last week had three and next week has four, but man, I am dragging. I'm doing my work, but it's taking Herculean effort.

And so, when we get home, the work stops. We change into our new sweatpants, put on Christmas music, and maybe wrap a few more presents. We watch our favorite TV shoes and eat lazy dinners (grilled cheese two nights ago, mac and cheese from the blue box last night). The dishes pile up, the laundry goes unwashed.

Once we get going (which we must, because I need clean clothes and plates!), I know that the act of working will actually give me more energy, but isn't it nice sometimes to just veg? For a few days even?

It's what I must do during these five day work weeks when the reports and executive summaries seem to pile up.

On the other hand, I skipped coffee all week until this morning. Maybe that's why those days seemed to drag. Maybe, in exchange for heartburn, my day will now fly by. See how I've brought everything in this post full-circle(ish)?

It's cold outside anyway (finally!). I can stand a little heat.