Bits and pieces:

Half an inch, yet such a difference. I got a haircut. He just trimmed the ends off and cleaned it up a bit, but it looks so much better. I can't function with bad hair. I confessed to having used a straightening iron, and he was shocked and upset. But it looks cool, I told him. I straighten out the very ends and use Bumble & Bumble wax to make them look piece-y and cool. I'm under orders to buy a flat paddle-type brush and use that to straighten my ends instead. We both know I'll be good until I'm in a hurry and then pull out the iron.

I'd forgotten what "bitterly cold" means. The local weather website said 28° when I left this morning, but despite their warning, I didn't think about wind chill. No scarf, no hat. And the wind just rips through this part of town. My jeans were cold against my legs. I made it to the T with the power of profanity. ("Shit! Shit! Shit!")

I've seen cold before. I lived in Vermont. I climbed to the steel upper deck at the top of the ski lift I ran one winter and watched the first sunrise of 1992 in -12° (plus wind chill). Granted, I was dressed for it in polypropylene long underwear and the heavy-duty parka and pants the ski resort supplied as uniforms. Today was probably between 11° and 18° with wind chill. I'm getting old.

My readership is dropping like a bad sitcom. Probably because at the moment, I have no life, and consequently I have no material. "Everyone is in love and I'm just waiting for the month to end," I complained to a friend. He pointed out what a good title that would make. But my life can't be a sitcom until after college is over (let there be a day! I believe!) and I'm juggling my career in the news business and my romance with a loyal good guy who practically lives at my hip South End condo and a cast of lovable, wacky neighbors.

I took a compliment on my writing recently from a woman I don't know well. I thanked her and suggested she go back about a year, when I was writing stuff like the Olympics piece. Like, funny stuff. I look at my journal now through the eyes of a reader and I can't help but think, "But what has she done for me LATE-ly?"

Gymnastics. Laundry. My (late) sister. Movies. Cold.

So, you know, it's fair.

My life, as I've set it up, will take care of itself: classes will begin, and life will start moving forward of its own weight. A more active body and more active brain will result, somehow, in writing. It's just the way my mind processes things. So we'll see what I'm like when I'm not sitting around, eating Triscuits and watching Blade Runner until it's time to get my hair cut.

Waiting on the Little Check That Could ("I think I can, I think I can"). I'm waiting for a check to clear. When it does, I can move my site. I'm nervous about moving my site. It doesn't look very big, but it's thousands of files. Some files create text on the screen. Some files create images. (Examples offered for non-geeks and technophobes.) Everything has to be in the right place.

I've downloaded some of the site. I'll download more in the days ahead. We're waiting for the Little Check That Could to clear so I can sign up with the new host. Moving in there will be like moving from a studio apartment into a five-bedroom house.

But first, I have to find out what Hostway will do to me for breaking off the contract with them. Somehow, I'm not worried. But if anything happens to me? Foul play. You heard it here first.

Man, I need some sleep.