Okay, soooo I got my hair cut. Short. Shorter than I have in probably 15 years, at least. I’m under no illusions as to why I did it. It’s one of the few things I can control right now. I’ve never been a cutter and I didn’t want to go down the eating disorder road even more than I already have, so the only option I could see was to cut my hair. I mean, I like it and have received compliments, but I hate why I did it. I can’t cure my friend’s cancer. I can spend time with them, lift them up, keep them steady, make them laugh…but I can’t cure them. I can’t stop a co-workers decline in mental acuity, but I can help fix things as much as I can before amy mistakes are found (or catch them before they become mistakes).  But I could cut my hair in a chin length style. That’s all I can do. Apart from cry. I do that a lot too.