Of course, because hacking my hair off is my major coping strategy, I figured my hair ought to reflect the complete disarray of my internal state. So, now I have completely choppy mess-tastic rock star hair...
...which this photo sort of captures, but not really. Basically, it looks like a deranged rat gnawed my hair off completely at random. It sticks up in funky ways. There are moments when I catch it in the mirror and go, "What the hell?" and other moments when I think it rocks.
I did have a really delicious moment over the weekend, while my sister and I were visiting my mom's mom and her preacher husband. One of my mom's (hypocritical retrofuck conservalicious philandering) brothers showed up, with his thirteen year old son in tow (product of his second marriage, to the woman he cheated on his wife with, while preaching morality every day of his repressed Baptist life). The uncle and my preacher grandfather had a rousing convo about guns (Second amendment not just about hunting! Guns for defense of freedom! Obama! Taking! Them! Away!), while the ladies and the kid discussed the economy and I kept my anti-capitalist mouth (mostly) under control.
Somehow we got onto music, and the kid was talking about his accomplishments as a sax player - which started a discussion of guitars and musicians. I could see this kid checking out my visible tattoo, and my crazy hair, and my sarcasm, and generally seeing me fit into all kinds of Rebellious Artiste stereotypes. I had to wonder if he'd ever met someone who didn't share the faith and conservative lifestyle I'm certain his father imposes in a total echo chamber....'cause I could see all kinds of stars in his eyes, and that he was painting me with some kind of glamour. It made me giggle on the inside.
I hope that kid grows up to be a total rebel badass and gives his father hell. That's karma, baby.
1 comment:
Well, I love it. The layered texture is awesome.
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