Nervous woman shaves head, and other news
Today was a good Monday.
No fuckin crazy people called me (meaning some folks who call
from NAH, insurance, or “specialty” pharmacies). Thanks to Sarah
walking the dog at 6:45 in the a.m., I was able to teach my classes
from my studio on The Spaceship without barking interruption.
Classes went without a hitch, though my students seemed quiet today.
This morning, I woke up, drank some coffee, checked the news, checked
school email for urgent matters, checked my personal email, brushed my teeth, shaved my head, took a shower, put on my beloved Notorious B.I.G.
t-shirt. I felt a little tired. I’m still weaning off my Eyeball Steroids and
people say even though the steroids are just going directly into my eyeball
they could still have that “hyper” effect on me. This makes me feel less
insane. Any information that makes me feel “less insane” is good information.
Yeah, I shaved my head.
No, this is not a “cancer thing.”
This is a “I-have-not-had-time-to-find-a-new-
hairstylist-in-Tucson thing.”
I could not take my hair anymore. And so I did what any human being — whether man, woman, child, other ought when feeling this way: cut that shit off. It’s hair. I heard it grows back. I also heard they make fancy ass wigs these days. You will not see me in a wig because I do not wear wigs. I do not really care that much about my hair, though if I’m being “rigorously honest,” this utterly shorn look is even a bit too short for my own tastes. And everyone is going to be like “Well, of course her hair looks like that. She has cancer.” Even though, like I said, the “head shorn” has fuck all to do with cancer and everything to do with the fact that, for a woman like me, it’s difficult to find a stylist who will do what I want with my hair. Most lesbians will have an idea of what I’m talking about. This conversation:
Stylist: That’s so short!
Me: I know.
Stylist: I don’t think you realize how shor —
Me: I do.
Stylist: I think this . . . this might be a men’s cut.
Me: I realize. I like it anyway.
You know? So I have to find a hair stylist in Tucson who is
1) not homophobic (shouldn’t be too hard) and is
2) comfortable cutting my hair in the more “masculine” style I enjoy for myself.
Other news: still haven’t found a doc at Mayo. The truth is I have not carved out enough time for myself to do this BUT my good friend Laura is coming to visit this week and she’s the kind of friend who will be like “Bitch, get on that computer and find your ass a doctor.” Sometimes I need such people in my life.
Final note for a Monday (this is shockingly brief, I realize), the image below is a plant that is growing in the alley that our yard backs up to. Isn’t it gorgeous? Since I’ve been in AA and trying to be a “better Buddhist” I’ve been noticing things I never really noticed before. What I noticed before in Tucson was “dirt.” Dust and dirt. Hence “Dirty T,” but the secret about the Dirty T is that if your mind is right, you know the secret: it’s actually really, achingly, beautiful.
