At 2 a.m. on April 28th, 2002, I cut my hair off in my bathroom. I had been at a bonfire with friends that night and there was a girl there whose hair I thought resembled mine too much. She was a rotten creature and I didn’t want any part of me to resemble any part of her. So I chopped off the hair. Way off. I cut off over a foot. True story.
Ever since starting my new job, my desire to chop my hair off again has grown exponentially. It is my job to romp around in dirt, get slobbered on by dogs, hang out with incontinent cats, and get crapped on by birds. And because of this, I have a hard time bringing myself to do my hair nice and pretty like I used to. Washing it, drying it, it’s all become a chore. So tonight as I contemplated chopping off my hair like I have so many times before, I realized that yes, I really do love my hair, but it’s just hair. And so without a second thought, I went in the bathroom and emptied my locks into the sink.
Chop. Chop. Chop. About ten inches total.
I really love my hair long, but more than anything, I think I love that other people love it even more. And that’s what’s been keeping me hanging on to it. But that’s a stupid reason. There were so many more reasons to chop it. Like the fact that I live in the desert and come summer, my hair would become my worst enemy. Or the fact that it takes forever to dry. Is straight and boring and takes forever if I want to curl it. Is always in snarls after showering. Was getting so long it was approaching stringy. And so on. I do think I look better with it long, but I needed a change, and if I really want it back (which I don’t), it’ll grow back.
by Sarah
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