I feel so fancy with my new haircut. Suddenly, I looked in the mirror and it was the 27 years old me, not the 17 I have been staring these past few months at, trying to get her to grow the fuck up. I actually grew into myself, but I guess it's easier to blame your hair than admit all the things you've been through. I feel that more fancy because I'm wearing my favorite sundress and my huge hat and my antique ring and my cat is parading around the house and we're listening to Charlie Parker and smelling scented candles. I am so very tired it would have been a disaster if I went out. I'm not that stupid to think a big change in haircut will mean a big change in my life. But I am that stupid to keep reading and writing and talking to friends, trying to not give up on the struggle to make something of myself, and that would be a strong autonomous being who will be nice randomly and will bake at the most inappropriate hours. I will give myself the time to handle whatever comes my way at my own pace. Short or long hair, I want beauty to be what I make of it.