All of these things scare me.
Let us not once again talk about how I never blog. Let’s jump in.
I do not like getting my hair cut. Even though I generally hate what my hair looks like, I am attached to it. I blame this on my aunt, who used to cut my hair when I was little. When I was eight, I begged her not to give me a crew cut like she gave my cousins and she said “ok” but then pretended to use the razor anyway, as a joke, but it wasn’t funny. I cried and never let her cut my hair again. And now I have trouble finding people I will let approach my head with scissors. Once I find a stylist, I go to that person religiously. I thought I was going to be ok in Indiana because I found Patti, who was good, but she recently left the salon and I don’t know where she went, so now I have to try someone new. IF THIS PERSON MESSES MY HAIR UP THE DAY BEFORE AWP, I WILL PROBABLY DIE.
Immediately after getting my haircut, I have to drive to school and start teaching the kids how to write short stories. They are nervous but they are not as nervous as I am. Basically I’m going to say, “Remember what we did in poetry. Do not forget. Fiction is more than plot. Your characters have to want things. What do you want? Pretend your character is you for a minute. This is a good place to vent because that’s all I do when I write stories and please don’t look my stories up online because then you’ll know more about me than I want you to.” They will probably stare back at me with blank faces, like they usually do. It will be fine. It will.
I tend to overpack. But this year I’m driving to AWP, so it’s less of an issue. There isn’t the whole “I have to leave space in my suitcase for the million things I’ll buy at the book fair and will have to take home on the plane” thing to deal with. It will be fine. It will.