Blah. Bah. What to post? When I'm at a loss, my wise mother says that I should just begin with what happened in the day, and the rest will follow. That said . . . .
We had an impromptu campfire on the beach Monday evening. Beautiful night, beautiful company. Just three of us: Tom and myself and a girlfriend. Her husband is working in the north central part of the state for a couple of weeks, but her little sister has been visiting from Kansas for the last 3 weeks or so.
She brought her sister 1/2 way home over the weekend where they met up with Mom and a brother for the hand-off. But, after that special time with family and all the extra hub-bub in their small home for the past month or so, it was very hard for her to return to an extremely quiet house Monday night. The dog and the wee babe doing somersaults in utero (this is one excited auntie!!) were good company . . . but just not quite enough.
So, when Tom called from a day in town to ask if I needed him to pick anything up (a requirement of every trip to town when you live so far out), I said, "Yes! Pick up 3 subs from Subway, some wine, and meet me at H's house. She's down and needs to be kidnapped."
When I called H to ask her, "What do you think about being kidnapped to the beach for a couple of hours?", she gasped and almost hollered into the phone, "That would be . . . DELICIOUS! I'LLGETMYCOAT!" ;) Sweet girl.
Oh! I cut my dreads off Sunday night! They were just getting to the bothersome point. A) they were getting uncomfortable to sleep on - felt like I was wearing small rollers to bed. And, B) they were getting h-e-a-v-y! I'd been thinking about doing it for a few days, but each time I'd tell myself, "No, you've worked on 'em so hard for 8 months - keep going!" And, really, in the end, I wanted to be able to nonchalantly mention, when I was 80, "Oh, yes, I had dread locks for three years." Sigh. Alas, 'twas not to be.
So, Sunday night when I was brushing my teeth before bed, I was looking at myself in the mirror and thought, "Oh, I'll just cut ONE off. Just to see how much 'non-dreaded' hair I'll have to work with." So, SNIP. One gone. Hm! "Okay, just one other." Snip! Hmmm!
I spit out the toothpaste, rinsed out my mouth, and went to work! Snip!Snip!Snip!Snip!Snip! Watch out: I was a crazy woman with scissors!
And, really, it felt SO liberating! I mean, how many of us have always had that dream of just ATTACKING our hair with scissors? Chopping it all off - just to be able to DO it? I know I have . . . and now I've fulfilled that dream!
I was left with about 2 - 2 1/2" of greasy hair. It felt SOOOO good to be able to scrub my fingers over EVERY INCH of my skull that had been unreachable due to the dreads, I can't tell you! Satisfied and it being about 1:30, I went to bed like that, waiting for Tom's reaction in the AM.
In the morning, Tom stumbled into the kitchen, looked at me . . . and frowned. "What . . . your hair . . . it's . . . like . . . breaking off . . . coming out of the dreads . . . in the front . . . uhhh . . . OH MY GAWD! You CUT 'em OFF?!!"
After he left for the day (he's been working up at the end of the Trail . . . about 80 miles away), I washed my hair, massaging, massaging, massaging my scalp. Ahhhhhhhhh. Heaven.
Then, I took good hair-cutting scissors to it, just wanting to make it presentable enough until I could get an appointment to have it properly cut. But, one snip led to another, and . . . voila! Forty-five minutes later, I'd given myself a fairly decent pixie cut!
I actually had a headache for most of Monday and into Tuesday. Just a dull one . . . like my scalp was adjusting to not having all that weight constantly pulling at it . . . which I think it was!
Anyway, I'm happy with my new haircut, and I feel like "me" again (although I hadn't been aware that the dreads WEREN'T totally me ' cause they felt - emotionally - just fine, but . . . .). 'Course, now I'm living with the "you look totally butch" self-criticism every time I look in the mirror that I don't have a cute shirt, makeup, and earrings on (i.e. every time I've LOOKED in a mirror since Monday night!). Sigh.
If that woman at the soda fountain hadn't asked my mom, right in front of me when I was in third grade and in response to the pin I was wearing that read 'Never Underestimate the Power of a Woman', "Why is he wearing that pin?" . . . I'd not be the maladjusted woman I am today . . . always afraid she'll be taken for a man. ;)