...well, it's happening again. I've grown out my hair. Not on purpose, really. More as an after thought. When my hair is short, I dream of having it long, so I can pull it up into a fun style. And when it's long enough to fit into a pony tail, that's where it goes. Not into a lovely up-do....more of a haphazard sloppy bun, circa 1995.
It's only been a few weeks since I could pull it back. It doesn't all stay in....the haircut I had prior to the grow-out was an inverted bob. So there are stray pieces of random length hairs that work their way out of the 1995 sloppy bun. It's not lovely. It doesn't feel lovely. But, it's off my neck, and I don't really care.
But, I should care! I'm going to start caring again. Soon. Maybe.
I'm feeling like I need a change. Like the messy bun isn't all it's cracked up to be. I think of how fun it feels to have a new cut, how fresh and alive your head becomes. It's when these dangerous feelings come to the surface, that my fingers start eyeing the nearest scissor. And then I take that scissor and treat my head like a topiary. Only, I don't know what in the world I'm doing. And afterwards, I'm thankful that the messy look is still sort of hanging around.
I haven't gone Edward Scissor Hands on myself just yet, but I am dangerously close to doing it.
I may just have to rearrange bedrooms again just to keep my mind off of attacking my hair.