2001-06-28 - 2:30 p.m.

I wonder if I write the type of journal entry I would want to read.

I�m getting my hair cut today. I don�t like getting my hair cut, which is probably the reason my hair has been long for most of my life. But I cut it short a few months back, and now I need one every six weeks or so. If I don�t go soon, it will be long enough to tie back, and then I�ll never cut my hair again. I cut it short back in February, when Gary and I were fighting, and I felt I had so little control over what was going on in my life. I knew I had to do something, and the decision was made hastily, on a Friday afternoon (after a quick phone call to Salvatore, who hemmed and hawed and didn�t know what to say when I asked if I should cut my hair, until I apologized and promised never to put him through that again).

There�s something so disconcerting about sitting in a chair, staring at yourself in a mirror, surrounded by women getting waxed and bleached and dyed. I feel out of place, and I never answer the questions right. �So what do you do to your hair?� I wash it. I brush it. I used to blow it dry, but the dryer broke, and I didn�t feel like replacing it. So now I let it air dry, even though it�s unruly, and takes forever to dry all the way through. No, I don�t want to buy fancy shampoo and conditioner. No, I don�t want my hair colored. What�s wrong with the color it is?

She intimidates me, my hairstylist, because she is hip and little and beautiful and has pointed nails and a big diamond ring sparkling on her ring finger. She cuts my hair almost haphazardly, randomly, and has learned not to ask too many questions, because I fear that more than getting a bad haircut. Last time, she didn�t even try to sell me the fancy shampoo and conditioner.

So I�ll go, and I�ll sit in the chair, and when she asks me how I want my hair cut, my hands will wave confusingly around, and I�ll say enigmatic things like �shorter. Can you make it shorter? It�s just too big.� And hopefully, she�ll know what I mean.

previous - next