Oh Hair Redux

Two months short of three years ago I wrote this:

I think Ms. Jackson said it best….

What have you done for me lately? …

Really?

Oh hair…
You’ve covered my bed, my couch, and my floors.
You’ve interfered in smooching sessions.
You’ve clogged my drains.
You’ve let one strand fall down my shirt while I’m at work, giving me an agonizing itch and causing embarrassment when I try to stick my hand up my shirt without looking like I’m grabbing my boobs.


And yet … I think I’m going to miss you, hair.


This is our last weekend together. I think we’ll celebrate with a pony tail.


That was hours before going to my pixie cut. I spent the next 34 months sporting a style shorter than most boys care to go.

Now, I am writing the inversion of that day. Today is a day where yesterday I stood confused in the hair accessory isle for the first time in years.

Accessories?

Hair?

These concepts have become unfamiliar to a point of unknown. What I am learning (or remembering?) is what it is like to have hair again. I am remembering the single strands that dust the bathroom sink. What I wish I had never forgotten is the texture of my locks. I recognize that I kind of like running my fingers through my hair. I am also quickly realizing the day to day struggle with what to do with it this morning.

I write about both of these days under the same light. This hair ‘process’ has given me too much attention. Obviously, chopping off all your hair doesn’t go unnoticed. Surprisingly, growing them back gets just as much recognition, even at its reduced rate. People have been commenting on my long (long meaning not short) hair these days.

The difference between 3 years ago and today is this: Three years ago I wanted to try a look I had never embodied. I had direction. I had an idea. I was confident in my hair wearing and knew why I was doing it. Change, primarily, however superficial that may be. A risk in appearence. When people ask about my hair today … I don’t really know what to say. It’s not change. It’s not something different. People ask if I am growing it out. I haven’t got an answer. Am I growing it out? I mean, I guess it’s doing that on its own. I have no hopes, dreams, aspirations or directions for this head of mine. Am I supposed to? Why and who made that rule? It’s just going somewhere.

Or maybe I am just a sucky receiver of generous vocabulary.


But hey, I can almost put my tail in a pony!

Just for shits and giggles.

* Brought to you by a ... oh fuck, I said shits ... nevermind*