Scissors

I trimmed my bangs unevenly. I did it hastily, with too much faith in my hair-cutting skills. I don't care too much, but my mom will. She has a reputation to uphold, I suspect.

Here's a dilemma I've been facing: so long as it's not life-threatening or crippling, I really don't think self-mutilation is all that heinous, and I feel like I'm missing something. A good friend revealed recently that she'd been tempted to cut herself, and I told her that to do so would be bad but I couldn't put my finger on the reason why. The best reason I could think of is that she'd regret the scars later.

At the ARC (a ca de mic re source cen ter), there is one nice ARC lady who is small and soft-spoken and has a quaint, notably eccentric sense of fashion. I remember once when she was looking for a test I had to take, her calico sleeve rode up and I saw the yellowy scars of violent cuts ravaging her forearm and thick on the inside of her elbow. It was fascinating.