(no subject)

I got my hair cut today, and for reasons I'm yet to figure out, every hair-cutter in the neighborhood thinks they know what I really want my hair to look like. As in: I couldn't possibly want it that short? I do; it grows quickly both in length and thickness, is curly, and the weather is about four degrees north of the surface of the sun - in the shade. Plus I'm lazy. I could have beautiful Sherlock-esque curls if I was willing to put in more work than a shower and towel-dry, but do notice that hypothetical...

I had every intention of working through edits on the Mycroft story today, but I've been having nightmares and last night gave up after nightmare #2 in as many hours, thinking I could at least wear myself out and get a decent night sleep tonight. (I'm relaxed and have been listening to New Orleans street jazz so I am hopeful I'll actually get sleep tonight and wake up with the headspace to work on that.) The will is there, desperately so, actually.

I actually had a shave with a straight-blade razor, which was surprisingly nice. I mentioned to the hair-cutterer that I was toying with the idea of a story where a male character received his first such shave and he said I had enough of peach fuzz I'd be able to feel the difference, so he gave me one. The story idea is shelved until current projects are managed, but I at least have had something akin to the experience and a description of what would be different. Also, super-soft skin. Idioms involving babies' backsides come to mind.