i spent last night cutting off chunks of my hair. just me and a pair of dull scissors sprinkled with strands of hair i spent the last year trying to grow out. dramatic? perhaps. impulsive? probaby. what my therapist meant by "healthy coping mechanisms"? definitely not. i'd probably have regrets if i wasn't in such a deep state of apathy, but i don't care to imagine that right now, so i won't. those of you who have somehow remained unfucked-up will not understand the wave of absolute euphoria that follows this kind of exertion of absolute and total control. it makes it all so worth it.