A childhood nickname I've been reflecting on, that. I hated it,
once upon a time, but now it's just kinda appropriate. It's also
a long story, to explain to you where my mind is at the moment.
I went and spent last week with my best friend, and had
interesting times catching up on life over 4 years.
Never takes long to remember how much I dislike living
in that little abyssal cesspool corner of the greater gene pool,
or how much some things lock in my head when I'm there. My hair
is a symptom, or perhaps a symbol, of trying to break those molds.
I decided to dye my hair a really bright colour for the summer.
I wanted a really intense red orange, so I didn't mess around.
We got some professional dye stuff, and tried it out. Well...it turns
out my hair is not only turning white, but the roots are already
there. So we got flame red everywhere else, and freakin' magenta
roots. I was mortified by the colour at first. It's toned down some,
and we...mitigated that. More on that later.
I also decided to get rid of some hair. True to that nickname, my
hair is very long, fine, and extremely thick. So with this in mind,
I really didn't relish spending a hot, humid week with that much hair
on my head. So I did something on my life's "To-Do" list - I undercut my hair from about an inch over my ear down. It's funny...when it's down I still look like I have a full head of hair. But it's a lot lighter, and cooler. We cut it down to about 3/4" at the hairdressers, but later that wasn't short enough for me, so I took it down to 1/4". It's sooooo neat.
Once upon a time, this hairstyle I wear now was in my mind. My mother told me if I did I shouldn't bother coming home; being only 16 I decided to keep living in my house. :\ I can't help but wonder what would have happened if I had said "Fuck you and your authority" and done what I wanted. It took me 8 years to do what I wanted. And I still spent the week worrying about what she'd think; although if I did it here in Peterborough instead of Smiths Falls, it never would have been an issue.
I set foot in SF, and I'm stuck in anxious depressed teenage spaz mode, by default. Perhaps the hair was a way to attempt to walk out as my own adult person. Or mebbe I'm reading into things way too much, and forgetting that I really am just an anxious depressed 20-something spaz now.
We used the whole tube of dye, and it STILL didn't get all the way through my hair, even with Brooke grinding it into my scalp for 10 minutes. Even with half of my hair gone, it still didn't cover it all.
So I can't say I miss the hair at the back.
Anyway, back to the mitigation I promised earlier. Now my hair's bright pink-red, getting orange in places as it fades closer to the natural colour, and I'm happy, if not still getting used to it. But Brooke's got this look in her eye; I live vicariously through her for children, and she lives vicariously through me for my hair. She's not allowed to dye it bright for work, otherwise she would. She's had this tube of blue dye for the longest time - and it is BLUE blue - and she keeps saying a streak would look great. So she wore me down, damn woman, but when the dye goes on, I freak. MY GOD is it blue, and for one streak of hair she
used a lot. It came out indigo, but has become purple thanks to the red dye already there.
So here I am, looking the way I want to. I became reaquianted with something about Smiths Falls that I had once been used to, but have forgotten - being the odd one. I got stared at so damn much last week that I was ready to smash someone. 4 years somewhere else has lowered my tolerance for gaping slack-jawed white-trash idiots. Fargh. So it's a mixed bag of emotion, and something I remember everytime I run my fingers through my hair.
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