Justification

Today Lloyd (the magazine's graphic designer) and I finished putting together my second issue.

I'm sure there are times in my life when I've worked harder, but it doesn't feel like it right now.

I've had 3 hours of sleep, four days in a row.

But the magazine looks really good, IMHO.

Emotional diarrhea

I have been very cranky this week, and needy. And I don't like it.

I feel like a thin sheet of ice ready to shatter or melt until there's nothing left, and if there's nothing left that's ok. I could cry at any moment (and I did, at work no less, yesterday), but when I'm safe at home alone and it's okay to cry, I can't make it come. And I try. I try to get it out in private so there are no accidents in public, but it won't come on cue.

It's emotional diarrhea. There is no rhyme or reason to it, and no cure. It just hits. Without warning.

I LOVE being a woman.

Of course, some would say it's not hormones. Nathan's birthday is this weekend. He would have been 21, and now he never will be. So that could be it. Or maybe it's the divorce. Maybe the pressure of putting the magazine together again - this time for two months instead of one.

But when my fantasies center around what I would like to do to a whole box of donuts, or the Boston Cream Pie sitting in my fridge, it's a pretty sure bet hormones are playing a role in the drama.

I'm going to go assault a Boston Cream Pie.

Miss me?

Wow. I guess I've broken my all-time record for longest amount of time between posts. Sorry, faithful fans, I'll try to do better.

I've thrown myself headlong into the magazine publishing business and seem to not be doing so bad, as it were. Soccer mom haircut or not. We are on an upswing, financially speaking, and things are going pretty well. I really enjoy the editing part of my job, and I love piecing the magazine together and watching it come out just right, like an enormous jigsaw puzzle. It's very rewarding to create something like this.

On a personal note, my divorce quietly became final on Valentine's Day. Yes, you read right. It was also my grandfather's birthday. I like to think of it as a good omen; I'm surprised at how much more relaxed I feel now, like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

Now, if I could only lose about 23 pounds off my belly...

Splitting hairs

I got a haircut this evening.

I usually get a highlight and trim about every three months or so, but this time it's been since August. With everything going on, I haven't had the time or money.

I sat in the chair as the stylist tried to comb out the dry, damaged mess. I thought about the clothes I tried on earlier that looked like crap. And I thought about how thin and straggly my hair had been looking lately. And about how my first magazine was coming out tonight and all the chances I'd been taking lately. Wouldn't it be nice to make sales calls this week with a nice, new, sleek haircut? Something that didn't take so long to fix and looked more stylish?

I took a deep breath and told the hair lady to cut it off. She looked relieved not to have to try to detangle my frizz, and started to cut. It's now in a bob about an inch below my ears.

Ah, the freedom! It felt so light, it looked so much healthier.

I pulled into the driveway at home and met an excited Savannah at the door. She had just gotten her hair cut into a bob last weekend, so she was thrilled that she and I had the same style. The other kids were surprised but seemed to think it was pretty cool. My box of magazines was sitting on the bar - what a night! I got my new magazines, a great new look, and the weight of the world seemed to have been cut away with the weight of my tangled, impossible old hair.

Then my boyfriend came over.

Between sighs of disappointed resignation, and lots of "I'm just not used to it," came the mortal blow.

He said I look like a soccer mom.