It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad evening.

It began with a cold.  Sniffles and a general stuffed-up feeling, quickly followed by a cough that--though occasional rather than constant--sounds eerily like it should be coming from an asthmatic chain smoker.

Then there was the class in which I asked a student to read aloud from a Very Important Handout about choosing a primary source for their Very Important Semester-Long Research Project and another student whipped out his cell phone, checked his text messages, and then began texting.  In the middle of class.  While someone else was reading out loud.  As the fourteen of us (counting me) sat around four tables in the formation of a square and he was two people to my right so I could clearly see what he was doing.  And yes, I gave my "Turn off your ringer and don't even think about texting during class because that is incredibly rude and disrespectful and I expect that you will be as respectful of my time as I am of your time" speech the first day of class. 

I was totally shocked and sort of furious and I seriously would have called him out in front of the class except that I didn't want to be totally rude and interrupt the person reading.  So I snapped my fingers in his direction and when he looked up I gave him my best WTF face (David is quite familiar with this face and agrees that it is an effective form of non-verbal communication).  The student put his phone away and I decided not to verbally flagellate him in front of the entire class later.  But just wait for him to try it one more time...

After class, I was in a fairly foul mood.  The cold and the student indifference were both getting to me so I was hoping that a hair cut would cheer me up.

It didn't.

I don't know what I was thinking.  I had her hack off like six inches of hair.  It was a total mistake and a total nightmare.  I managed to get home without crying and then called David sobbing like our dog had been run over.  He was still at work and had things to do and was not suitably comforting, so then I called my mom who said exactly what I needed to hear:  I'm sure it looks cute.  At the very least, it will grow.

At least I'm taking prenatal vitamins.  I think that will help it grow quickly.

And sure, it might be a cute haircut.  But I don't care.  I hate it and I will continue to hate it with a vengeance until it grows out again.  And no, I will not post pictures because I am not looking for sympathy comments of how cute it looks.  Even if you really think so.  Because I don't care.  I hate it.  And I also don't want to hear anyone say that you shouldn't cut your hair drastically when you're pregnant.  Because I already know that.  I knew it before I cut my hair.  I have no idea what I was thinking.

And do you know how demoralizing it is to have to stand up and teach in front of a roomful of people knowing that not only do you have nothing to wear, but you also have a haircut that you hate?

It is totally effing demoralizing.

Demoralizing enough that I cried off and on about it for about three hours.  In between grading essays and watching Law and Order reruns. 

Then David got home and brought me flowers which made me cry again because why am I crying about hair when I am so lucky to have such a nice husband and blah blah blah.

We ate dinner (although I didn't have much of an appetite due to traumatic hair experience) and watched an episode of Rome and suddenly I was crying again.  Because it was 9pm and I was exhausted.  Because I'd just finished grading 18 essays for one class and I have a stack of 28 more essays that have to be graded by Friday.  Because I had to get up and go to work the next morning by 9am.  Because I totally underestimated how tired I would be working 6 days a week.  And, oh yeah, because my haircut totally sucks and I hate it.

At that point I at least had the good sense to realize I needed to put my ass to bed.  Unfortunately, I slept fitfully, woke up with a stopped up nose and a sore throat from sinus drainage and ended up watching a DVRed episode of the new 90210 (don't judge me) at 4am.

I took a shower and fixed my hair this morning.  I still hate it.  But I am refusing to cry about it anymore.  Today.  It looks ok.  If you like this hair style.  Which I don't.  On me, I mean.  I would probably think it looked cute on someone else.  On me?  Hate.

I called in sick to work because I figured I didn't need to show up and cough on kids at a learning center.  Although they may have gotten me sick to begin with, little bastards. 

David is at his ballgame and I am about to retire to the couch to do some more grading.  If I can just get through 3 essays this afternoon, I will feel better about life (though not about my hair).