Hair

Cutting my hair is something that I've always said that I'd never do. Only because I've felt that it would make me less "straight adajacent" than I already am. Sidenote: I just skewed the term "gay adjacent", I'm actually not that clever. But, with the end of one stage approaching, heralding the rise of another. There really couldn't be a more charming opportunity.

The days of blowing the random wisps out of my eyes, or flinging my head around in an attempt to create some sort of motion with the ever-shortening mop untop of my head will soon be no more. Tomorrow morning, preluding The Roots picnic, the "Locks of Love" will be gone. They really haven't been locks of love since last Summer when some Woman got ahold of them and attempted to tame them,permanently. It's been a downward spiral since then and, I'll be happy to see it gone. No more walking up the stairs on late nights, rubbing grogging eyes, and climbing into the bed only to realize hours later that I've failed to wrap a scarf around my head. And no more constant combing throughout the day.

Looking into the mirror besides the couch now I'm reminded of how much I hate it. It's black kind of brownish straightness, the fact that it's connected to my head, apart of me, immediately the primary focus when one's eyes are not cast downwards. In fact, I hate it so much that I'm dedicating a post to it. Even moreso that I have arranged to have it diminished. Just not entirely, styled even. I'm not as extreme as I'd like to be.


This is my long drawn out announcement and agreement with India Arie. You'll see tomorrow,I am not my hair.