Quarterly?

Its the first of december and the first cold day of the year. Hot winter manifested throughout november in that we had winter with summer symptoms instead of vice versae but basically the same weather. Today though, its crisp and cold. Almost all the yellowed leaves on the grape vine that obscures my balcony from the street all summer are gone. The hard welcome light of East coast winter makes the apartment bright and dusty looking.
I have begun having problems with my feet. The stringy tendon that attaches from the ball of your foot up to the back of your calf, as it turns out, can become very painful and they have a name for it. Plantar Faciitis. Lovely words. Conjures up thoughts of warty nazis. So, if you stand on hard surfaces for extended periods of time (like clogs, say) or do strenuous exercise on hard floors without supportive shoes, or any shoes (like west african dance, say) you can tear and bruise said tendon. The gift which your plantar tendon gives is that it doesnt really hurt while youre performing the above activities. It taketh away, however, when you get up from your first rest after the standing or dancing or whatever and THEN it really socks it to you. The heel of my foot after a post work Sopranos episode or after a nights sleep, no matter how short, is so tender and painful that my first hour of walking is limpy and excruciating. Especially on the left side where my foot turned in sharply as a child. So, having chronic pain for the first time is scary and makes me nervous, but I am never one to be bogged down by bodily discomfort, and wasnt about to go to the doctor, heaven forfend. They'd no doubt tell me I had heel cancer. I turned to Web MD and to family friend Krissi who once had to wear a cast due to extreme Facist Wartyness and found out that there are a lot of things you can do to lessen the effects. Ive been doing them (excercises, stretches and icing) along with a healthy dose of bemoaning how ones body betrays one in old age, mostly for effect, and it seems to be helping. I also went back to dance class last week because Im sure that stopping dance has brought on this disorder as well as a nasty recurrance of what I thought was childhood asthma but appears to be having a second coming. Dance class wasnt remotely fun but I am glad I went and I hope to be able to stay the course long enough to get into a routine of going. Rick instists that I should begin working out with those kettlebell contraptions, and I may try it out. I love the idea of not having to go to a freaking gym. I cant keep it up especially when I have to take the train there and back (sweaty) to do it. t
I took the written exam for my license. I ordered the test exam book from Milady (the main beauty school testing prep company, as if it werent embarrasing enough to go to beauty school you have to call your book My Lady, assholes.) I completed the entire book and did both the practice tests inthe back. I think I probably passed despite really poorly written questions that could have been answered correctly in a multitude of ways. Nonetheless you can miss thirty questions and still pass, so if I failed I will be concerned for myself on several levels. I also managed to get my hands on the prep materials that they give graduating beauty students in the NYC schools. Sweet. A new assistant at work gave them to me. We suddenly have (incl myself) four american born english speaking future stylist assistants at the salon. Its great, so much easier. Dakota is from Oklahoma, shes curvy and pretty, she has a beautiful smile and a sort of country girl sensibility. Her mom, when figuring out what to name her, closed her eyes and whatever key on the typewriter her finger hit, would begin her middle name. Fortuititously it landed on the *. Her middle name is *. Seriously. Dakota * Martinson. Brilliant. Anyway, she seemed to be the only one in the tri state area with those prep materials and she actually brought them in for me. So as soon as I prepare, get my stupid kit packed and get word that I passed the written I can take the practical and be done forever!!!

Thanksgiving came and went. It was fun. I went to connecticut with Rick's family. I made a celery root puree that went over well. It was good although Im not sure anyone would have eaten it if they had seen what celery root looks like pre preparation and cleaning. Yikes. And its not easy to clean Ill have you know.

A homeless man crapped his pants next to me and Mahdis on the train last week. I wont go into details (except that the stench cleared the car) but its the kind of moment that makes you wonder why on earth you live in a city that brings people to that kind of destruction.

I am in this sort of grey area between assistant and stylist at work. Judah has told me that I can take walk ins when the other stylists are busy and that I can book my own clients as well. He wants me, howver to work five days. Thats fifty plus hours. Four days assisting and one as a stylist to start. He refuses to do it otherwise and says that he can never build me up unless Im there five days. He may be right, I realize. I just cannot commit to being there more than I already am! I dont know if my feet can take another day, and I dont know if I can take another ten hours of upper east side per week. I am planning a month long trip to senegal in feb/mar which i know he wont be happy about. I realize about myself that I have trouble commiting to anything work wise. I can see that pattern. I want to break it, I want to be able to be somewhere and build something. But dont see anyone building anything in that salon exept chaim and judah! And thats not a good sign. I want to be somewhere where I can see that some greatness is possible and it will be an investment for me to be there a long time. When I get back from Africa, I am pretty certain i will be somewhere different. It WONT be fun telling the guys, Im dreading it.

I have more clientele every week and am coming to be a pretty good barber. I took three walk in mens cuts yesterday and thought of ms V as I gave a flawless fade using only shears and a comb. I thought I would NEVER be able to do that. I remember watching her beautiful hands fly up the head in perfect unison and the velvety strip of perfectly sheared hair that they left behind. My shears labored up the head crunching unevenly and left a line-y blotchy strip that needed several passes and always ended up too short.