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.)