The grass certainly seems greener.

Tomorrow is my first day off since I started. 2nd Tuesday of the month is an admin day for the educators, so I get to have a day to recoup. I didn't quite realize the sacrifice of not having any days off, it makes scheduling my days out that much more important. 

My brain hurts. I feel like the past 3 weeks have blown by, and I can't remember everything that has been thrown at me. It's to be expected, but holy crap I'm cutting hair on people in a week. There will be at least 3 crappy haircuts within the first week. I hate knowing that I'm going to be sub-par, it makes me sick to my stomach. I hate knowing that as a student with no experience, I will be compared to students who have been cutting for years and simply needed to go to school for a license. They've already found their groove. They've already found their swing. They have the confidence I don't have.

Yet.

I've been spending the past week avoiding extra time out on the clinic floor. It's frustrating for the way I process information to have students tell me steps 7, 8, and 9 (with the best of intents) before I've learned steps 3-6. I have a very difficult time connecting the dots until I've built my foundation and I've done it myself. One student tried telling me that I'm only holding myself back if I don't embrace the creative side and give up on following the steps.

This next week will be a challenge.

I started working on the following over a month ago, but I keep coming into roadblocks with it. It started as a way for me to challenge my linguistics while talking to my lack of practice, but anymore it just seems like I'm throwing darts at a wall while blindfolded. Completely aimless. I hate getting writer's block. I get halfway through a thought, and it never finishes. The ebb and flow is all wrong. So instead of nitpicking, I'm putting it out there. I know this isn't my best, not even close, but that's the point. My worst is in the past, and better is yet to come. I need to move past this.

As a lyricist, I lack loquaciousness
The literation that leaves my lips is littered with lacerations.
passing on purpose with precision, I provide paltry imperfections.
Lacking stability, I stumble and stammer
a superficial symphony of splattering sounds
typical.
the torrent of tumultuous terrors
silences my speaking