I'm not really sure why I keep taking so many self-portraits lately. I keep wanting to take them, thinking that if I do it enough, I'll be keeping track of my progress, or taking my mental temperature, or something. "How am I doing?" I ask myself. And then I take another self portrait.
I'm doing ok. I've got this cool new skirt that is reversible, which means that even though I wore it to work last week, I can wear it again today, and to my co-workers it's a WHOLE NEW SKIRT. This makes me happy.
I got a haircut last Thursday, and got as close to a lecture as my hair stylist gives about my lack of consistency when it comes to coloring my hair. "You need to pick a color and stick with it," she told me. "Otherwise you end up with these rings and rainbows and whatever else you have going on!" So last night I colored my hair (4 weeks after the last time, the white roots were already showing clearly). It's pretty close to my natural (original) color right now, I think.
This morning I drove to work. Traffic was light, I think because of the holiday on Wednesday. The sun shone bright. The radio played songs I'd never heard that made me bounce in my seat a little bit. I was wearing my new skirt. And I realized that I was unequivocally happy. Not just ok or content, but happy.
A few hours later, sitting at my desk, thinking about things, wondering about the future, I felt another wave of sadness wash over me. It is possible that I think too much.
Geoff and I are planning a trip to New York City at the end of the month - our first trip-not-to-visit-family together since our honeymoon in November 2002. It's about time, I think.