what bad hair does to good people

Caption: The closest representation of now-hair except Ellen Page trumps me x gazillion

Today, my mother caught me giggling in the passenger seat, and wanted to know what possessed me. I told her I have come up with a method after all these years (call it cognitive therapy I guess) to fight off the blues. Especially when I'm in a moving vehicle left to my own means and inventions. For every sad thought, I would rewrite the moment with added props, new dialogue, extra witnesses. Tragedy into comedy. Yes, I'm aware it gives off a manic-depressive air. She says, Whatever makes you happy. Then, she reaches over, grabs my folded hands (I am tense because people who drive one handed make me nervous), and tells me to talk to her. I tell her, Not yet. She asks if it's something she can't understand. Yes, I guess it's something like that. My mother is a beautiful person.

I also found out today that I used to bite my cousin NOT because of oral fixation but mostly for the fact that she used to be an ass. Sorry but it's true.

Also, what the fuck's up with Flushing hairdressers and their love of mullets? And layers! For the first time, I requested that knowing everything eventually came down to that. The usual place was closed early that day, and so, I decided to be adventurous with life (and never again). Some hole-in-the-wall place up a flight of stairs in some near alleyway (I guess I LIKE THE DANGER). Kudos to hairdresser lady for marching to the beat of her own drum but when she starts to think that she has a better idea of what I want for my hair than I do, well then damn. Mullet. Mullet. Mullet. Mullet. But it's okay now. Three hours ago, a friend took care of it in Common Ground with my barber shop scissors and whale towel. Jerks told me it reminded them of Karen O, and proceeded to blast "Maps" on full blast while dancing circles around me in my swivel chair. I hate them (I love them). So I apologize in advance if there are still hair remains on the ground. Consider it palpable evidence of my lingering essence long after I am gone from here.

But here's what's upsetting (about hair and not the stuff of the first paragraph): People do drastic 'dos after something momentous has happened in their life, and they are in need of some spiritual purging. Sometimes that takes a physical manifestation. Some people anoint themselves in wine. Some people walk through hot coals. Some people cut their hair. I cut my hair. I cut my hair right before my dad died. Shorter than the time I caught lice in third grade. And then, I was ready to move from all of that. So my vanity wanted that long, back sweeping hair that I came into this school with, the hair I can hide in. I wanted to say, Hey, hairdresser lady, do you ever think for one second maybe I wanted to grow my hair long because I am now ready to finally move on with my life, and that your cutting my hair will psychologically impair me from propelling forward in my spiritual endeavors?... Butthole.

Actually, it's not even about all of that (well some of it). I just want to be pretty again. That's dumb. Open doors for judgment.