Hair.

 

I had a hair cut today.

I always know when I need my hair cut.  I always go right when I need a hair cut.  But this year, I waited ALL summer.  I figured that I'd be out in the sun a whole lot and would damage my hair with sunshine and pool water and maybe even the beach.  I did end up damaging my hair, but it was mostly self-inflicted.  With styling tools.  (I only went swimming like twice.)  (I never went to the beach.)  (I can't name a single thing I did this summer.)

I'm growing my hair out longer.  And I'm growing out my natural color.  I'm blonde again for the first time since high school.  Also, surprisingly, a little bit grey.  But that's okay.  My friend Casey is young and has so many grey hairs.  SO many!  And he's the most handsome person!  I'm not as handsome... but I do have grey hair now and maybe there is a connection.  

I've always fussed over my hair.  When I was young and depressed, it was the one thing I could control.  I could dye it, style it, make it look all good and nice even when I didn't look good and nice anywhere else.  I've always had fun doing it!  But then, I stopped doing that.  I haven't touched any hair dye in months.  I cut my own bangs (and failed tremendously) and I didn't get it cut for over two months.  I still fuss around with it, and spend time doing it, but it's less of the priority that it used to be.  I have started really liking the more natural way of hair life... albeit, still with the help of styling tools. 

And yet, today I went and got a hair cut.  And I walked out of the salon with bouncy, freshly blown out hair.  And I felt like the prettiest girl on the block.  I'm pretty sure the song, "Who's That Lady?" started playing.  And I realized... my hair is still controlling me.  But, hey, at least it's not cocaine.  

I'm also doing cocaine. 

(Just kidding.)  (Seriously.  I'm kidding.)  (SERIOUSLY.)