Czy jestem too sensitive?

I'm on a kick about getting my hair cut. The way I see it, I have two options. #1. get my hair cut before my concert on Wednesday so I have a new exciting look for the stage, or #2. wait and get my hair cut closer to my birthday as a 'happy birthday' present from myself to myself. To spite how much I love being spontaneous, when one is considering chopping locks which they have been growing as long as I have, spontaneous is the last thing they want to be. However, like in all things, I feel driven. So after popping in and out of a couple salons and not feeling any too comfortable, I asked my pseudo-jewish pal Pawel who also sports curly locks where he got his recent doo done and, with address in hand, I set out this morning after my lesson with Ms. Frog Eyes to inquire of Pan Czajka and Pan Marek.

I found them in their very fancy salon called shma-shma (insert name here, I don't remember), well actually I found the receptionist. I don't know if it's an American thing, or if it's just me, but I always feel the need as the customer to justify what I am doing and why, so of course I had cooked up a whole story prior to asking if an appointment was possible today. "Good day. I have a friend who comes here regularly, and he, like me, has very curly hair, and I heard from him that Pan Czajka or Pan Marek knows a good method for cutting curly hair like mine and..." the receptionist cuts me off at this point, as I have given myself away by my craptacular Polish than I am in fact not Polish at all and she doesn't care about why I am there. She also seemed particularly miffed that I didn't have a telephone number for contact purposes. I felt like saying, 'listen lady, it's not my fault that in your country apartment complexes don't automatically provide their tenants with stationary phones, and I am further sorry that I don't feel the need to be enslaved by a mobile phone at all times because I prefer the freedom of not being able to be contacted, thank you very much!". Of course I didn't say this but instead left with my appointment for 2 pm Wednesday feeling lower than whale siu-siu (and that's at the bottom of the ocean). Oh btw, it will cost 120 zl. Gulp. Yeah I am willing to pay if they are going to do it right, but I wonder if I will just end up paying for a more royal butchering. Oh Elizabeth! Where are you, and why are you and all lovely things so far away in TN?

So I don't know now if I am going to go on Wednesday. What if Pan Marek treats me just as #5 in adjective form as the receptionist. Or maybe, in fact, I am just too darn sensitive. This is a new possiblity that has dawned on me since last Friday when we took one of those personality type tests in my 'breathing and emotion' workshop with the Anthony Hopkins look-alike, Mr. Richard (who is far more hot than the other Richard Kaczykowski who everyone things is oh-so handsome.) The questions on this quiz were for example: 1. I know what people are trying to say to me even when they don't use words. 2. I know how people are feeling just by looking in their eyes. 3. I can walk into a room and sense that someone may be feeling down. 4. I know what feelings I am feeling when I am feeling them. Yes, it got that ridiculous. But I was scoring 4 or 5 points for each question because all of those questions I answered 'yes most definitely I agree.' The average healthy person scores a 5, and I scored a 7. A little high, but not dangerous, and this after I have come such a long way. I was telling Peter just the other day, I have come a really long way since jr. high and high school when I was the biggest burden to all my friends, but they really gave it to me too. I remember Charlie Reed telling me I would be okay 'if only I lost 20 lbs.' Back then I really took it to heart, but now I would tell him 'uh, HELLO, have you looked at me? It should be more like 30!' But anyway, that is the thick skin talking.

So maybe I am being too sensitve about the receptionist. I don't know. I haven't considered myself too sensitive for a long time. The only for sure is that I have developed a nasty habit for using potty-mouth thoughts. I'm mean I am thinking them, even if I don't say them. I guess then it is a blessing I don't speak better Polish because it forces me to shut my mouth, if nothing else.