I looked in the mirror and said, "that's not me."
Recently, I cut my hair extremely short. I went into the hair- dresser (American Mortals, fyi), "ready for a change," because I'm a cliche. I look sort of look like a boy in Castle. Or like my doppelgänger, Severus Snape. In cutting my hair to awkward–preteen– boy–going–through–a–Nirvana–phase length, I realize I liked it the way it was. Yes, I have had the same haircut for all my life. But that shoulder–length 'do worked. Now I don't know what to do with it. It's too short for a ponytail but too awkward a length to look good down.
I thought I wanted a change, but I didn't appreciate how good I had it.
Next week, we will elect the 132nd Board of the Daily Pennsylvanian. Next week, I will be irrelevant. Next week,
I will be asleep at 1am on Thursday. Next week, I will be so excited to watch the next Street Exec build upon the legacy of this publication. I'm ready for next week.
But I'm going to miss the publication and the people that have defined my life at Penn. I am going to miss the window- less shithole we call an office and the awful puns we think are funny.
I'm starting to cry at my desk. More on this next week in my final letter.
So I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, I'm working on learning to love my short hair. Hit me up with 'dos (looking at you, Kweder).