(Click pictures to enlarge)

I got a haircut yesterday. For the first time, I actually remembered to take a picture the day of the haircut, to capture how the hair stylist did it, so that I can replicate it on my own. However, no "before" picture. That one, I forgot.

So I told my hair stylist, "punk" and "spikey." Spikes, where are you? It's my own hair's fault, really. It has a mind of its own and lately (or always), it's decided it will not be spikey. It hates to be spikey. But I want spikey!!

Maybe I need new gel. At least I remembered this morning to apply my pomade from the back forward, like the guys from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy said to. That did help a little, but it's still not quite spikey enough. I am determined to find the right product to help me in my spikeyness endeavours (suggestions welcome).

So after I got my hair as spikey as it was willing to be, I headed off to see my doctor for that follow-up appointment I've been fretting over. I was still freaked as I drove over there. It turns out, no need. She actually did just go through stuff with me, pointing out what was tested and that it was all normal. The only thing I've got going on is a slightly elevated level of inflammation, which makes sense, considering my back is still in pain. She gave me a new anti-inflammatory prescription, so that should help.

And other than that, I'm good. No rheumatoid arthritis. No diabetes. My thyroid is completely normal, and my cholesterol levels are "excellent." I am officially declared healthy. How 'bout that?

Needless to say, I'm tremendously relieved. Apparently, my doctor just likes to be a personable physician, calling her patients herself, and following up with them in person. She scared the bejeebers out of me, but all is well, and I'm healthy. So, hooray! And now? I think I need a nap.