Saturday, September 23, 2006

In Which I Am Too Boring for my Hairdresser

How do the rest of you answer the directive: "Tell me something exciting that's going on in your life!" I'll tell you what--I came up with exactly nothing. This has actually happened to me twice in the last week or so--first in a chance conversation with a graduate student, and again with my toddler of a hairdresser (who, I will say, brought the magic this time. And we've now termed this particular 'do an "ironic citation of Laguna Beach." It's not every hair care professional who can say that and know what it means).

This is a problem, right? When I am struck dumb by someone's assumption that something exciting IS going on in my life? When the first thing that comes to mind is that I'm desperately working on a proposal to get a faculty member for my little academic unit, and being beaten down daily by one of my colleagues? That's not exciting, it's just pathetic.

It has definitely occurred to me recently that work is eating my life, but perhaps nothing has made that so stunningly clear as being faced with these external expectations. And, of course, the ironic realization that if I actually DID have something exciting going on, it might well help me shift my laser-like focus on the wretched parts of my work.

But here's the rub: I have a hard time knowing where to turn for excitement. Surely this is where I'm supposed to turn to a long-lost hobby or burgeoning skill or quirky affectation. But what would that be?!! I'm not a knitter, I'm not going to write the great American novel; I'm not constitutionally able to wander the earth like Cain, helping the weak and poor. I hardly think writing screeds against the return of suspenders and waxing rhapsodic about Project Runway are pursuits that will fill me with joy and a renewed purpose in life.

I open the question up to you, dear readers. Suggest alternative excitements for the Fluff. I vow to consider each seriously--and store them up for my next haircut.


Blogger Beth said...

Make up stuff. Tell him you're having an affair with an undergrad — a freshman boy you deflowered. Or that you're having an affair with your husband's one-time stepfather, who may be the father of your child ... or it could be that freshman kid. Go all Days of Our Lives in the chair.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006 4:33:00 PM  

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