Those of you who know me, know I like to maintain as unusual a ‘do as possible, not to be a rebel, or to get attention. There’s another reason, a deeper reason, and I can prove it, because I absolutely hate being stared at, and despise going out into public except to specific locations. Some of you may scoff, because you know me as outgoing, but honestly, it’s all an act, and it’s the hair that is my disguise.
For the last few weeks, I’ve sort of felt dismal. I always feel dismal when I finish a book. There’s a moment of “thank god it’s over”, then a week of mad editing and busy work, and then…well, then there’s nothing. My old friends are put to bed, my business is finished, and the dread of that next plot is looming, clawing at the cage on my insides, demanding I pay attention to it whether I feel like it or not. But how can I, when I’ve just said goodbye to a year of friendship, a year of hard work, a year of patient research and investment of time?
I’ve had every hair do, a year and a half of shaved head, braids, pink, red, blue, cheetah print, long, short, asymmetrical, and at last, the mohawk. I settled on it finally about three years ago. Because I finally figured out WHY I need my hair to contrast so sharply with my face, my clothes, my occupation, my serious and intense vibe. I need it to remind me to strive and change.
When the muse is silent, when the critic is harsh, when no one seems to give a flying fuckballs, I look in the mirror and see that LOUD, ostentacious thing staring back at me and I am still, calm, and reminded of the revolution I have to be a part of. It focuses me, it motivates me, it drives me to live up to a goal.
Yesterday, to put it bluntly, I felt like shit. The first five chaps of Handful of Seeds are done. I could see the momentous task overshadowing the coming months, and long, long down the road, the possibility that the whole trilogy might in fact, be over. That these people I’ve built will be finished, will no longer speak in my head, inform my life, reflect on what has been. I slept till 3pm, ate gummies, chips, and beer, ignored my dog, cried at my laptop because the busy work of maintaining my online presence did nothing to make me feel better. I looked in the mirror, hoping to feel that push, but my sides had grown out. I didn’t even have the motivation to call my stylist and set up an appointment. Going across town for even an hour seemed too hard.
Something had to give, and today, it did.
Today I ran six miles. I forced myself. “The human body is optimized for six miles of foot travel a day” I told myself, over and over, to force myself to keep moving. And when it was all over, I looked in the mirror after receiving my requisite post-workout sweat-removing dog bath (yuk) and said, “Enough is enough.”
I don’t have a hair trimming appliance. Mine gave out about 6 months ago when after a year and a half of shaving heads it decided it would rather pull out each hair one at a time in revenge. What could I do?
Bust out the dog grooming kit and take drastic measures.
My mohawk is a hawk once again, and it is longer than it has ever been. More like a mane, or a trojan helmet. I think I will keep growing it out and trimming it with my dog grooming appliance, until it’s finished, until they’re silent, until someone pays attention.
And with the speed my hair grows, it oughtta be epic.