Curly

I am frustrated with how I can't write anymore. I am also frustrated with my hair. I won't cut it just yet, but I'd like to.
I would like straight hair with bangs, but it will never happen.
Although I wonder about chemical relaxers.

What if I was one of those people who straightened their hair EVERY DAY?
I did today--because I had a dream last night in which I had blond, straight hair, and it was the most relaxing, beautiful dream of my life.

I'll be heading down to Hewitt soon. Food is impossible here. I never feel satisfied, I never have real food, and it's catching up. I got sick this morning and missed Econ--which is not the end of the world as we are STILL reviewing algebra...
But.
I've got the day off tomorrow (I need it after the Hindi quiz that I positively massacred, or, more aptly, that positively massacred me today).
I hope my hair doesn't get curly overnight like it did last time I tried straightening it. And I hope my room m. doesn't get sick of me asking to borrow her straightener.

I am sick of texting.
Too bad my minutes are running out.

The theme of this post is: Complaining. But then, what is ever the theme of my posts?

Bernard Malamud wrote this book. It is called The Assistant. Don't read it. You will want to harm yourself.