tired and bored with myself

I have been allowing waves of self-pity to wash over me. It has been neither attractive or productive, quite the reverse. I seldom spend time peering at myself in the mirror in the ladies' loos at work - for one thing the lighting is brutal, for another the combination lock has been broken for years so it can be used by all and sundry - and I work in an hospital - so it's not a place you want to linger. But yesterday morning I was putting in my contact lenses so was forced to take a long look at myself.

And I was shocked by what I saw: dry and dull hair, huge bags under red eyes, face puffy and sore from too many tears and hardly any sleep, a 15-year-old shirt with 2 holes in it. The last time I looked this haggard was the evening of my best friend Kay's funeral 10 years ago. Something about that memory made me break the surface, shake the self-pity water from my eyes and strike for shore. (Yeah, I think I've worked that metaphor to breaking point).

Anyway, enough. In the words of Mr Spr1ngsteen, I wanted to change my clothes, my hair, my face. Luckily for me, in a moment worthy of a Hollywood film, I was handed a coupon for 50% off a hair-cut at a new and swanky salon which has opened next to the salad bar near work. I took a deep breath, walked in and made an appointment for that evening.

Also luckily for me, after work I was meeting Too, in town for just 2 days, for a quick glass of wine. Had it not been for that, and for Too marching me to the door of the salon, I don't think I would have had to courage to go. This is a seriously trendy place, staffed by narrow people clad in black and sporting aggressive hairstyles, mirrors all around and dance music pumping over the noise of the hairdryers. A supermodel/hairstylist took my hair from dry, near-waist length dullness to just below the shoulder, layered shine. Fuelled by the two glasses of wine on an empty stomach, I went a bit wild.
"Perhaps a side parting?" I suggested, throwing caution to the wind (while the woman sitting in the next chair was getting a pixie-cut from a purple-haired boy).

I don't think that the side parting really works for me, it looks a little bit care-in-the-community, but the point was that I had made a change that I intend to sustain. No more railing at the universe and at my body for what is, after all, just a tiny set-back. I now have a drug-free few weeks in which to lose some of the cl0mid weight, try and re-connect with Significant Other and get ready for IVF.

Basically, I've pulled on my big-girl knickers and I'm ready to go on.