My hair is at that point where I have to be very careful. One wrong urge, or moment of stress or boredom, and I'll chop it all off again. I've only had hair longer than my shoulders once since grade 5 because of this stage. It's too short to do much with, at least with my limited experience, but it's too long to hang down all the time. It just really irritates my ears and the back of my neck. I want to pull on it all the time. Writing about it is making me more conscious of that fact, and now it's bugging me intensely.
Years ago, I was talking to James Mitchell getting to know him a bit and just hanging out with his then girlfriend for one of the first times. She had long hair, and had her whole life. I got talking about being a tomboy as a child and he asked if that's why I always have short hair. I had never really thought of it before. The biggest reason I keep my hair short is that it's so hard for me to grow it. It's just annoying, physically. It's fine once it's longer, but it's so hard to wait. I started cutting my hair (or getting it cut, those days) as soon as I turned ten. My mother told me that my father wouldn't let me cut my hair until I was ten, because then I'd be old enough to make that kind of decision and deal with the consequences. She said that he wanted me to have beautiful, long, blond hair. After their divorce I asked him about that on the way to the hairdresser's to cut my recently shoulder-length hair even shorter. He got upset and said he never said that. That I could do whatever I wanted to my hair, it was my hair. He said I could even shave it if I wanted. He may not like it, but it's my choice. Years later, I would shave it, days before graduation to rebel against my mother who told me I could shave it for the summer as long as I waited until after the grad and prom photos.
Ha! I showed he when I went across the stage with hair only millimeters long and army boots to get that diploma! Tell me what to look like forever in my prom photos, will you?
The perpetual rebel. It's a real problem. Sometimes I do and/or say things I don't really want to, just because someone told me not to and how dare they tell me what to do?
KC saved me the other day from having a spider in my hair. It was coming down from the ceiling, and was mere inches from my hair when he caught it. The reason I'm a bit arachnophobic is from an incident, before I was allowed to cut my hair and it was down to my hips, involving hundreds of baby spiders. I was with a good friend of mine, and it was the end of summer or early fall; whatever the time of year when spiders mate. There were webs filled with little babies all over the outside of his house and many others in the neighbourhood. They had just recently hatched. I was fascinated and let my face get really close to the webs to see them as closely as possible. Then, my friend picked up a stick, ran it through the webs, and said look. Before I knew what was going on, I had so many of those little guys crawling all over my head. I screamed something at him and ran home, crying. When my parents saw me come through the door, yelling and sobbing, they asked what happened. I told them and ran, panicked, up to the shower. I showered three times, crying the whole time, but I thought I could feel them for days. Now, recounting the story, my head is itching. I still find spiders fascinating.
With friends like that, who needs enemies, eh?
Last year, I was well into isolating myself, but not necessarily enjoying it. I wonder what I wanted to do that night that had me cranky about "relaxation."
Years ago, I was talking to James Mitchell getting to know him a bit and just hanging out with his then girlfriend for one of the first times. She had long hair, and had her whole life. I got talking about being a tomboy as a child and he asked if that's why I always have short hair. I had never really thought of it before. The biggest reason I keep my hair short is that it's so hard for me to grow it. It's just annoying, physically. It's fine once it's longer, but it's so hard to wait. I started cutting my hair (or getting it cut, those days) as soon as I turned ten. My mother told me that my father wouldn't let me cut my hair until I was ten, because then I'd be old enough to make that kind of decision and deal with the consequences. She said that he wanted me to have beautiful, long, blond hair. After their divorce I asked him about that on the way to the hairdresser's to cut my recently shoulder-length hair even shorter. He got upset and said he never said that. That I could do whatever I wanted to my hair, it was my hair. He said I could even shave it if I wanted. He may not like it, but it's my choice. Years later, I would shave it, days before graduation to rebel against my mother who told me I could shave it for the summer as long as I waited until after the grad and prom photos.
Ha! I showed he when I went across the stage with hair only millimeters long and army boots to get that diploma! Tell me what to look like forever in my prom photos, will you?
The perpetual rebel. It's a real problem. Sometimes I do and/or say things I don't really want to, just because someone told me not to and how dare they tell me what to do?
KC saved me the other day from having a spider in my hair. It was coming down from the ceiling, and was mere inches from my hair when he caught it. The reason I'm a bit arachnophobic is from an incident, before I was allowed to cut my hair and it was down to my hips, involving hundreds of baby spiders. I was with a good friend of mine, and it was the end of summer or early fall; whatever the time of year when spiders mate. There were webs filled with little babies all over the outside of his house and many others in the neighbourhood. They had just recently hatched. I was fascinated and let my face get really close to the webs to see them as closely as possible. Then, my friend picked up a stick, ran it through the webs, and said look. Before I knew what was going on, I had so many of those little guys crawling all over my head. I screamed something at him and ran home, crying. When my parents saw me come through the door, yelling and sobbing, they asked what happened. I told them and ran, panicked, up to the shower. I showered three times, crying the whole time, but I thought I could feel them for days. Now, recounting the story, my head is itching. I still find spiders fascinating.
With friends like that, who needs enemies, eh?
Last year, I was well into isolating myself, but not necessarily enjoying it. I wonder what I wanted to do that night that had me cranky about "relaxation."
posted by crystal at
3:41 pm
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