Woke up quite suddenly at six a.m. and made the executive decision that I could sleep for a little longer. Doing my hair is overrated anyway. 40 minutes later, I hated late-night-Shelbi just as much as I did before. Committed to going to bed early tonight, although I can almost put money on late-night-Shelbi forgetting all about early-morning-Shelbi by 11pm.
As I sleepily started pulling on clothes to wear, I looked down and realized my blouse was extremely wrinkled mostly because it spent the last week at the bottom of my duffel bag, having never made an appearance in Las Vegas. On my body, at least.
After a quick ironing job, I decided I also needed to straighten my hair. It wasn't until lunch today that I walked past a mirror and noticed I not only forgot to straighten the back of my head, I failed to iron the left arm of my shirt.
My head felt really heavy today, so in an effort to relieve weight, I cut my hair (pretty sure its the reason I've been on the cusp of falling asleep all day today). Because that seemed like the reasonable thing to do. Luckily I was thinking somewhat clearly and commissioned a professional to cut it.
The rest of the day went pretty much the same.
Fast forward to the grocery store:
Me: I also need ice...
Cashier: 7 or 20?
Me: (in my head) What is this woman asking me?
Cashier: 7 or 20?
Me: Ounces?
Cashier: Um... pounds.
It kind of felt like a bad Sunshine Math equation.
After a quick ironing job, I decided I also needed to straighten my hair. It wasn't until lunch today that I walked past a mirror and noticed I not only forgot to straighten the back of my head, I failed to iron the left arm of my shirt.
My head felt really heavy today, so in an effort to relieve weight, I cut my hair (pretty sure its the reason I've been on the cusp of falling asleep all day today). Because that seemed like the reasonable thing to do. Luckily I was thinking somewhat clearly and commissioned a professional to cut it.
Later went to make a hair appointment:
Receptionist: Could I get your first name?
Me: Shelbi. S-h-e-l-b-i
Receptionist: So S-h-e-l-b-e-i
Me: Um, sure.
Receptionist: Last name?
At this point I am pretty sure I stared blankly at her, not quite comprehending what she was asking. It took another prodding question for me to snap out of it, but we got there eventually.
The rest of the day went pretty much the same.
Fast forward to the grocery store:
Me: I also need ice...
Cashier: 7 or 20?
Me: (in my head) What is this woman asking me?
Cashier: 7 or 20?
Me: Ounces?
Cashier: Um... pounds.
It kind of felt like a bad Sunshine Math equation.
