During the big push that brought me to the final stages of the Big Project, I’ve let a lot of things go. I haven’t cleaned my house, other than an occasional pass with the feather duster, for weeks. (On the other hand, I didn’t have a highly organized cleaning routine to fall out of in the first place.) I haven’t been doing as much cooking, which means I haven’t been eating as well, which means I haven’t been feeling as healthy as I might.

It’s been a long, rough road, and it has felt at times like a slog through the ditch. I don’t know if the ride will get smoother, now that the project is coming to an end (still slowly, but getting there). But I know what I did today will help me get back on track. I’ve been cringing whenever I passed a mirror lately, so today I got a haircut.

But wait. That isn’t the story. The story is that I went completely outside my comfort zone (and thanks for the advice, Simon). I didn’t go to the place that’s been cutting my hair for the last twenty years. They’ve done it all but one or two times over that span, and I think I’ve complained (silently) every time. No matter how precisely I explain what I want, they never get it right. Even when I leave the shop looking the way I hoped I would, by the next morning I’m wondering why I keep trusting those butchers.

So this time, I didn’t. I actually went to a different shop. This one is (a) closer to my home, so I didn’t have to spend as much time away from work, and (2) cheaper. I knew it was closer to home before I left the house, of course, but I didn’t know I’d be saving two whole dollars.

In fact, when I set out on my errands, my intention was to go to the usual place across town. But then it started to rain, and I was heading in the direction of this new place, so I thought, why not? I don’t know why I thought that, because that’s not usually the way I think. As you know, I’m a graduate of the “all change is bad” school of thought. Cum laude.

But I got what looks (for now) like a pretty decent haircut. And to be honest, at this point, after two months, any haircut would have looked good to me. I’m just happy I won’t have to spend quite as much time in the shower with the shampoo every morning. Whether I’ll be thrilled with the outcome by tomorrow I don’t know. But it couldn’t be any worse than how I’ve been looking for the last few shaggy weeks.

So that was my day, a little shot of something different to make me feel better. My night? Not so great. The Boss called at 4:30 pm and told me he was ready to get started. We were on the phone off and on for the next three hours, with him asking and me trying to answer questions about the Big Project. It needs to get to the accountant soon, but we tweaked it a bit, and made some corrections.

Unfortunately, he’s not completely satisfied, which means most of tomorrow will be dedicated to the same dreary routine. But I did inform him that I wouldn’t be able to put in much time over the weekend. “I don’t expect you to work on the weekend,” he said with all the heartfelt sincerity of that guy who came to my door last week because he didn’t want me to miss out on the opportunity to own the greatest— uh, whatever, ever. I didn’t believe him, either. It doesn’t matter, though, because I have other plans for the weekend.