I had this plan, see.
I was going to grow my hair out until I hit my next decade mark, and then I was going to buzz it all off — one last long-haired hurrah, and then no more need to braid the mess out of the way when I sleep, no more searching for lost hair bands, no more having my hair stepped on by small dogs trying to wake me up in the morning. It was a modest little ritual I had in mind — a way to celebrate and commemorate a milestone. I would donate the length removed, and go on to a sort of new life.
It’s sort of silly, I suppose, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Now, life events outside of my control have moved up my timetable. No more waiting out the decade — the turning point is NOW. I don’t know why it matters so much to me at this moment; I’ve clearly invested the simple act of ditching the aging hippie ‘do for something more practical with a significance that it needn’t have. Nonetheless, I’m doing it. As of 4PM this afternoon, I’m a shiny new pixie cut looking for a new life. Either that, or I’m Brittney Spears going a little overboard.
Let’s get on with it!