I write you tonight under extremely unusual circumstances: Marvin is in the other room watching a Clash documentary.
I just asked him, "What could you possibly learn about the Clash that you don't already know?" and he said, "I'll find out!"
Wouldn't it be nice to be made happy that easily?
In the meantime, I was supposed to get my roots done today, a task that has become beyond necessary. Because nice white streak in my roots. Pepe LePew is falling in love with me. Tensing Norgay has tried to climb to the summit of my part. I look like I have cream filling. We're talking gray.
And do you know what happened? First of all, I do not know what is going on outside, but I am constantly sniffing and crying, like I am some emo cocaine addict or something. My eyes are burn burn burning and I want to claw them out, they itch so bad.
It was particularly dreadful today and at about 3:00 I started to realize I was getting a migraine. I have read that migraines and sinus headaches are somehow related, although I can tell you they are distant relatives, like Princess Diana and Winston Churchill, because NOTHING hurts like a migraine.
My hair appointment wasn't till 6:00, so I went to Rite Aid and got me some Claritin, even though it's $9,403.92 for ten pills. I thought maybe if my sinuses weren't so bad, the migraine wouldn't be, either.
I got to the hair place feeling mighty awful, and guess what. GUESS WHAT! Half an hour later, I am still sitting in the front, reading an Elle (I love that E. Jean!), and I have a throbbing, crushing migraine AND my eyes are watering and I want to claw them out AND I am nauseated. Plus I have roots.
Why can't things happen on time? I mean, my roots happened on time. But appointments. Why can't they be on time? I am forever showing up places at the prescribed hour, because I am German and also Midwestern, and yet no one else seems to be functioning in a timely manner. WHY? Why can't things be efficient? Am I the only person who resents WAITING HALF AN HOUR to get her hair done?
So I left. It was one of those things where all I could do was hang on till I got home, and then as soon as I was here I went straight to bed with all my clothes on. I woke up at 8:30 spooning Tallulah. Her ear was splayed across the pillow and we were holding hands. She is a good and faithful nurse. I am using her as a footrest as I type this. I guess she is not into the Clash.
Therefore, my roots continue. My head looks like every landscape scene from Fargo.
I think I am gonna try to find a new hairdresser. A German one. The BMW of hairdressers. I actually have no idea if BMWs are German or not. Okay, the Volkswagen of hairdressers. That's what I'm looking for.
Before I leave, I offer you the obligatory.
Henry will play with anything. Even an unsharpened pencil. He's not choosy. He's easily amused. The whole world is his Clash documentary.