ninjagrrl

Well, I chopped the hair.

There are pictures.

I suppose I did it as a scream against the upheaval in my life, with friends getting married, losing the spiritual connection with people I have known and loved for years, freaking out about the status of my own relationship with my ol' man, staring a creative block in the claws and maw.

After I cut my hair I went to show the ol' man. He and a friend had the TV on and he didn't say much about my hair, which is discouraging to say the least. I asked why they were watching C-SPAN, only to be told that they were paying attention to the "important" things in life (as opposed to my love of Perry Mason, I guess). Not a word really about my hair and why or anything. Just a smile and a return to Tony Blair. TONY BLOODY BLAIR!

So I ran upstairs and cried for maybe forty minutes. Mind you, I almost never cry. With all the shit going down and the mutilation of something I took years to grow, I suppose it broke me. I clutched my blankie (it's been with me for all my life) and sobbed and screamed curses to the world into my pillow.

Finally, sick of my emotional outburst. I grabbed a book and ran down the stairs, grabbed my smokes and retreated into the basement. I sat there and petted the cat, chain smoking, for awhile. The ol' man finally came down and left. I finally went upstairs. The friend was still there so I suppose I will have to wait until the evening to talk to him and explain myself.

We hardly ever fight. I do seem to start most of them, but I am the scared one. He rolls with the waves of life and I just can't trust, I suppose.

Well, I am okay with my hair now. It was nice to have a cry, but I hate emotion.

Agh, piss on it all.