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Chop, chop

November 16, 2007

After talking with Sarah about her new (short) haircut, my mind went ahead and freaked me out in my sleep giving me, not one, but two dreams about my hair.

I was in the living room at our house with someone else. I told them to grab the video camera, and I grabbed a pair of scissors. Holding the ends of a chunk of my hair out straight, I made the fatal cut super close to my head. Apparently I was going for a really short ‘do. It took some time to actually cut the entire chunk short because I was, of course, using our ridiculously dull scissors I keep meaning to throw away.

But once the whole chunk was chopped, I disposed of the hair and declared it was time for the rest of it to go. Either the person filming it would have to finish the job (and make it look cute), or I’d have to get into a salon ASAP.

Then I started to freak out. I didn’t know why I chopped off my hair. After all, I’ve just decided that, if I’m going to go back to a short haircut, I’m waiting until I have enough hair to donate. And Dream Me realized I didn’t have enough to donate and was wasting perfectly good hair.

Suddenly, Dream Me woke up and realized I hadn’t chopped off my hair. The weird part is I was still dreaming. I had dreamed inside a dream. Dream Me No. 2 proceeded to lovingly brush the hair that hadn’t been prematurely hacked off and thought about how frantic Dream Me No. 1 had been to chop off a chunk of hair. It was a craziness you usually see on TV.

The good news: Real me woke up and discovered that I definitely still had my hair. I’m happy I don’t sleepwalk and act out what I dream about.

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