2005-01-08 - 8:07 p.m.

sistermotherJasonsmokingme

My poor mother... she has no time to criticize my hair because she's too worried about my 18-year old sister who is on a date tonight with a 23-year old. She's still in high school, and he's a starving artist- my parents may be hippies, but they get as sqeemish about "letting their little girl go" as any parents. At least I went easy on them and dated a silly but fully acceptable younger man until I was two years into college, at which time I found Jason. Speaking of which, on the last day of this semester Jason and I will have been dating for two years. It's amazing, but I really don't think I'll ever get bored with him. When he left my apartment yesterday I spent about half an hour sitting around, feeling sad and trying to remember what I usually do when he's not around. At length I decided to read a book, and as usual, that made me feel better. The book was by John Dominic Crossan and about the historical Jesus. Jason's doing an independent study with Dr. Raphael about the historical Jesus this semester. Oddly enough, I have no religious classes. This is the first time that's happened in 2 years. It's weird. Perhaps I'll just stop by Dr. Raphael's office on occassion and harass her anyway.

In other news, I helped Jason dye his hair the other day. Now, instead of being really, really dark brown (his natural color) it's darkest blue-black. It's very sexy. He was the one who originally proposed the change, but now as he looks in the mirror he laments that it looks a bit "younger" than what he's going for. I laugh and tell him he's the one who was complaining of feeling like an old man on campus! Actually, no, I didn't tell him that- nothing so blunt. I just hugged him and told him he looked beautiful, because he did. While I was engaged in follicular follies I touched up my own hair. Any faux redhead can tell you that it's a hard color to maintain, and that's even more true of a red like mine that isn't exactly found in nature. Alas, I am a slave to beauty! Okay, not exactly. Though I am pleased to see that since I quit smoking my skin has cleared up a lot. And here I thought I was using the wrong cleanser... nope, it was just the toxic chemicals being filtered by my dermis. The worst part is that despite the agony of quitting and the obvious positive effects, I worry that I may start up again. I always do. Last night i even had a dream where I was smoking- those are the worst. I wake up all sweaty and wanting a cigarette. I think I must have the highest level of dependency ever in the history of humans. Anything that comes within 5 feet of me I become adicted to. I suppose I should channel my ex-smoking problem into something more constructive like nymphomania.

The last thing I wrote before this thing. The next thing I wrote after this.