It's Worse Than it Looks

Jack's had a fever since yesterday morning, so I think the Missus is taking him to the doctor's this morning. No runny nose, no pulling at the ears (a sign of teething), no coughing, no loss of appetite, no diarrhea - just a fever of about 102 and a case of the crankies. It's gotten colder up in the wonderful Northeast, and even though we just had new windows installed to replace the 40 year old heat dissipaters the former owners claimed were windows, it's still a might chilly in the old house.

I continue to be bleary-eyed and ragged from a head/chest cold that never seems to want to leave. I think part of the lethargy is the loss of any structure to my eating habits - the 40+ pounds I lost for the surgery last year have been steadily creeping back on me, and what free time I have isn't being spent on a lot of physical activity. Plus I haven't had a haircut in forever, and I don't have the kind of hair that works when slightly moppish. Instead, I have that wonderful wispy hair that, when left to grow, collects massive amounts of static electricity and only makes me look more disheveled and, what's worse, even balder than I actually am.

I just looked back and realized I was complaining about my hair. Sorry. But I can't be alone in my loathing of wayward hair - it's one of the things that absolutely drives me crazy. If you're out there, and you feel the same, know you have a comrade who feels for your plight, brother (or sister).

Where do you go after ranting about your hair? I was going to quickly run through some music and movie stuff, but everything seems so bleak and hopeless now. The stray strands of my despair cling to me, weighing me down in a bog of neck fuzz and unruly sideburns. Natural conditioner are useless; my shampoo has surrendered.

Hair, we shall duel at noon...