move on, move on

I bought two shirts the other day.

I know, I know, my whole simplify philosophy. My whole "I'm poor" thing.

Well, I still stand by it to a degree. They were cheap shirts, for example. And I'm going to bring a box of things I never wear to a thift shop or Goodwill soon, so I guess it's more of an exchange.

But yeah, I didn't buy them because I needed them. I bought them because they were very sweet in a 1960's babydoll kind of way, and I'm tired of wearing uninteresting things. I'm tired of feeling plain.

And, quite frankly, I'm a bit tired of myself. I want change. I want it now.

I'm growing out my hair, not cutting it again. I'm also thinking (somewhat seriously) about getting my nostril pierced. Because a) I like how it looks (obviously) and b) people would be surprised. (Any thoughts?)

I'm hoping this desire to change my appearance is due to a certain personal funk I'm in, wherein I feel myself inwardly changing, rather than a possible inadequacy crisis. But I think I've been wanting to do this for a while. If I got a tattoo, which I sincerely don't want, I might have reason to worry.

I want to be forceful about who I am, and the easiest way to do that is through physical change. I will not be predictable or rigid. I am whimsical, my friends.

Oh, and I smoked my first cigarette last night. Laugh, but I've just never had the desire before. And you know what? It wasn't bad. It also wasn't worthy of the sophistication and snobbery most smokers assume in the face of never-having-smoked-ers. It was tobacco rolled up in paper, placed between my lips and the smoke thereupon inhaled and then exhaled. Simple. Silly. Not amazing. Not bad.

A relief.