I unexpectedly got a hair cut on Thursday. I was planning on going to the library to find sources for a research paper due 4/10 (I was shit-out-of-luck, however; apparently only large libraries carry any information on the war in Darfur) when mom asked if I wanted to get my hair cut. It was getting long enough to stick in my shirt collar, but not long enough to stay put. It was irritating; so I got it cut.
It turned out a bit shorter than I thought it would be -- I was wearing my glasses when I got it cut, but had to take them off. So when the hair dresser (also named Heather) asked me if it looked good, I said yes. I joked with mom that, given a few tweaks, I could look like
Anton Chigurh.
Now that I've figured out what to do with it, I love it much more, and I don't look like Chigurh. Thank god*.
*
No Country for Old Men was amazing, though.
