Lesson #1: Don't make promises when blogging. Especially when the time of posting is hovering around midnight or later. Bad idea.
Lesson #2: ...actually, that's kind of it for now.
I said in my last (/first) post that I would talk about my terrible haircut next. Turns out it kind of looks fabulous today. Go figure.
But I really do hate it. In a slightly-less-than-hate way. Hate is such a strong word. But I really just wanna constantly pull on the ends so it will grow faster. Short hair is such a hassle. I thought long hair was obnoxious in the shower (which it is, woot buying conditioner every month) but short hair is ten times worse once you're out of the shower.
- Lather product through it, to avoid sporadic strands that defy gravity.
- Blow dry in a yoga position from hell that's like that one tree thing except I'm a weeping willow, bent over at the waist. What we won't do for volume.
- Remember in "Up" when that adorable little girl takes off her pilot helmet and all of a sudden there's an array of hair filling the entire screen? That's what I go through every time I come up from blow drying.
- Comb the beast!
- Oh boo. Forgot to turn on the straight iron.
- Twiddle thumbs.
Oh! okay! that's hot. Straighten hair. Did I mention I'm kind of a boy inside and girly things like cosmetics and beauty don't exactly come easy? I'm also pretty sure my hair is made of pure stubborn.
- Good enough. Styling? Style....style...ponytail? No, too short. Um. Bobby pins! No bobby pins to be found (there IS a bobby-pin gremlin. I swear to you. He also likes hair ties and socks). Stare at face in mirror and wonder what ever possessed you to get a haircut.
Often some of those steps will repeat themselves multiple times due to an inadequate job on my part.
And so. I hate. Short hair.
Not to mention it really just doesn't feel like ME. I've always, always had hair longer than my shoulders. Long ponytails and braids, messy buns that cover the entire back of my head, practically drowning in my own hair when I go swimming, that's the hair I'm used to. The hair that makes me feel pretty.
It's funny how society has led us to attach to that one aspect of yourself that makes you feel worth something and with even the slightest change, it's severed. I was lucky and blessed with a full head of hair. And lots of it. I'm actually still a little steamed at the stylist who cut my hair because she just started thinning it before I knew what that funky gadget she was using did. I like my hair. I like the color, I like the texture, I especially like how it glints almost auburn under water. But I can't really see it or feel it anymore because it doesn't extend farther than my chin. I feel exposed, vulnerable. Like a flower stripped of it's petals. Which is just silly because there's nothing essentially wrong with that. I realize that. I do. But I don't have to like it. So I don't.
I'm still beautiful. My boyfriend still loves me. But I'm allowed to have a preference. Don't try to tell me that because I don't like my hair short I have self esteem issues and need help loving myself. It's hard enough feeling pretty without the whole of society breathing down my neck about "Love Yourself!" and "Born this Way" and the tidal wave of happy hug-a-soul movement going around. How I feel, is how I feel. You don't get to dictate that. I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't need your affirmation to insure my self esteem.
My short hair is dumb.
One of my pinky fingers underwent a bit of abuse and is now shorter than it should be. I call it my "midget-digit".
I have bunions so my toes are a little funky.
I have a bazillion freckles.
My shin bones are very bumpy and I'm not sure why.
My nose is slightly too large for my face.
I haven't got a filter, so my brain often thinks it's brilliant and pours words out my mouth that procure looks like I just suggested taping cactus to our heads for hat-wear.
I've got a laugh that makes you wonder if I'm either imitating some primitive animal or possibly in so much pain I'm about to spontaneously combust. My boyfriend coined it "obnoxious".
But that's okay! Because I'm different and I like different. Different means I'm not gonna get lost in the crowd. I'm also a little bit taller than your average girl so that helps.
Anyway. Get outside! Go do something! I promise, productivity is the perfect cure for the slumps. Even if it's just tidying up your room or baking a superb cake.
Mmmm, cake. I think I'll do that today.