On Books and Hair

I've been reading The Historian for the past week which has gotten this reputation of being suspenseful and awesome, and I just can't get into it. The author is so repetitive and so slow with her story, I can't read it for more than 30 minutes at a time. She's just flapping her gums on the page. And while the mental image of gums flapping (like in those slow motion internet clips where people get slapped across the face and you can see their skin rippling) is quite hilarious. The fact that this book is 642 pages long and I'm on page 343 and it still sucks is not hilarious.

I just want to go back to the days of the first Harry Potter books. When it wasn't a race to the finish and they weren't the size of the Bible. Where you would just sit in bed on the weekends and read all day, and never get tired of it. And then after dinner, you were actually excited to get back to reading. I haven't really read a book like that since I was 12 years old.

On a completely unrelated note, I'm getting my hair cut tomorrow. The plan (for now) is to just let it grow while I'm at school, because it's easier that way. But deep down inside my cold, stony heart, I want short hair. Crazy short hair that makes people do a double-take to place your sex. Because short hair kicks so much ass, ohmyGodletmetellya. It's easy and androgenous and stands out. Kick ass.

But in the part of my heart that isn't so stony, I still long for those long curls that hang down your back. Or bun-ing it all up on the back of your head (in strategic chaos) and then sticking a pencil in it.

We'll see how I feel tomorra'.