This time with feeling...

Okay, so the last post was not much of one I know. But I panicked that I might not make it home in time to publish something substantial, or at least worthy of the six of you that read this. And how bummed would I have been to lose my challenge on day four? I mean I'd at least set the over/under on March 15--and, yes, I might even take the under, knowing me and all.


For a few years now, I've been obsessing over the fact that I'm going grey. Look, I even brought it up two years ago (almost exactly). Well, this past fall, I did something about it: I gave in and started coloring it. I know I have several friends that were singing hallelujah because they don't have to hear me moan about it any longer. And while I'm ecstatic that I don't have the straggly grey hairs sprouting up all over, I'm actually quite devastated. You see, I've always really defined myself by my hair. Not totally and completely defined myself by my hair--yes, I am so much more than just my hair, I know, it's just hair--but being a redhead was unique, and people were always so envious of the color, and it was all mine and I didn't have to get it out of a bottle. It was something that made me standout ever since I can remember.


Yes, I know there's a lesson about vanity in here, but dammit, that wasn't a pill I wanted to swallow, yet. Again, I know it's just hair, but I loved it and loved the fact that it was a beautiful and untouched gift. That's not to say it's not still beautiful, it is (Lynda, if you're reading this, I LOVE MY HAIR), it's just that it's not the same now and I do have to get it out of a bottle. I do feel very silly and vain to say all of this, because I know that there is so much more about me that makes me stand out and makes me who I am, and that I should be beyond thankful that I have my health and an amazing life (and I am, believe me)... but every once in awhile the vanity sneaks in and reminds me time is ticking.


I've read and reread this post a couple of times now, hesitating to post it. It was supposed to be a light-hearted quirky post about how for years I've been complaining about my grey hair and how much grief I have for lost youth. But this is an age-old story (I can't stop thinking about Narcissus), and that maybe I have a harsh awakening in store. Just like this one time in college I had a random thought about how much I loved my ears, weren't they just so cute and perfect? Yes, I actually thought those thoughts, and later that very same night, I swear it was the same night, I was playing a game of Ghost in the Graveyard with my sorority sisters and as I was running through the darkness, a treebranch came out of nowhere (well, it came out of a tree) and sliced my ear. There is much more of a story there, but the moral was: hey, Van Gogh, don't love your ears so much, because it's just an ear. And if you don't stop being so vain, you might end up in an emergency room getting your ear stitched up, and by the way you won't be numb so you'll feel every stitch. How do you like them cute and perfect apples?


On second thought, I take it all back. It is just hair. Don't be ridiculous, I don't love it (unless you're Lynda, in which case I do love it, let's just not tell anyone, we'll keep that our little secret...), and I'd be... GULP... fine without it. Yeah, totally. Who needs hair? Nope, not me. Note to self: You better keep your fingers crossed that reverse psychology works on the Universe.