In which I dye and then I die

Dying first: First class this morning. Woke up bright and early, did some warrior poses (for "confidence" and "energy"), ate some cereal, drank some coffee, put on my cute new outfit, and headed out to the train with half an hour or so to go the eight stops to campus (estimated trip time: 15 minutes).

You know what happened. So I got to class late, flustered, not having drunk my diet coke yet. Talked too fast, talked too much, didn't even get to play with the fancy-schmancy a/v hookup in the classroom. Did the "Why Shx is important" song and dance (Hint: It's not just because it's a requirement). Ran off at least one student (she quietly set her syllabus back on the stack and slipped out). Felt very overheated and shiny. Skipped office hours to come home to sulk.

Eh. This just means that Friday has to be better, right?

Dyeing: Yesterday, I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror at L&T. While I was expecting to hate what my hair was doing (stupid growing-out phase), I was horrified to discover that I had a blonde streak happening in my bangs. The placement of which I clearly did not authorize. Suddenly, I was 13 again, freaking out over how blonde my hair gets in the sun. Because it's a weird, bad-highlight-job kind of blonde, not a lovely sun-kissed kind. Just, no. So I had to come home and dye. I'm back to dark brown now (espresso, allegedly) and feel much more like myself. Plus, I look meaner. Which helps when one is flustered and overheated and shiny in front of 25 students first thing in the morning.