So, this is kinda odd. And more than slightly narcissistic, so skip this one if you don't really know me and don't really care to.
It's been so fucking hot here that I ended up shaving my head yesterday afternoon, after sweating my ass off doing laundry. Yeah, if you're sweating off your ass from laundry, you've gotta do whatever you can to regain to thermal equalibrium, right? So, yeah, I dig out the clippers, find my #1 sled, and dig in.
Now, I've been growing my hair for the last few months, as consistent visitors know, but I shaved my head for, no kidding , TEN YEARS previous to that. A decade of naught but stubble upon my melon. You'd think, right, that the image I had of myself would be predicated on that shorn look, right?
Nope.
I haven't been able to look at myself straight in the mirror since I took it all off. I dunno what it is, but my head looks so little now. Seriously, like softball size. And in case you're wondering, that's a really shitty look. But, I have to admit, it's a hell of a lot more comfortable. If only I didn't look like such a goddamned freak now...
It seems to me that there should be some deep thought in here, somewhere, some interesting reflection on the transitory nature of self-image, of how quickly we can forget who we were and focus entirely on who we are, but even as I type that I know it's bullshit, 'cause the rememberance of self-image and self-perception is one of those things that makes us blush throughout our entire lives. Right, Elbows?
So it's odd that my new hair became the root (heh heh) of my self-image so damned quickly, and it's making me wonder if the hair wasn't forming the self-image that I have now, but if the hair was just completing the self-image I've had for years, and seemed right just because that's how I always thought of myself.
Dunno. Although, I did notice that I was beginning, with the hair up top and the soulpatch-on-steroids down below, to look a bit like Constant.
Constant?
Well, again, if you know me, you know Constant. For the rest of you:
It's been so fucking hot here that I ended up shaving my head yesterday afternoon, after sweating my ass off doing laundry. Yeah, if you're sweating off your ass from laundry, you've gotta do whatever you can to regain to thermal equalibrium, right? So, yeah, I dig out the clippers, find my #1 sled, and dig in.
Now, I've been growing my hair for the last few months, as consistent visitors know, but I shaved my head for, no kidding , TEN YEARS previous to that. A decade of naught but stubble upon my melon. You'd think, right, that the image I had of myself would be predicated on that shorn look, right?
Nope.
I haven't been able to look at myself straight in the mirror since I took it all off. I dunno what it is, but my head looks so little now. Seriously, like softball size. And in case you're wondering, that's a really shitty look. But, I have to admit, it's a hell of a lot more comfortable. If only I didn't look like such a goddamned freak now...
It seems to me that there should be some deep thought in here, somewhere, some interesting reflection on the transitory nature of self-image, of how quickly we can forget who we were and focus entirely on who we are, but even as I type that I know it's bullshit, 'cause the rememberance of self-image and self-perception is one of those things that makes us blush throughout our entire lives. Right, Elbows?
So it's odd that my new hair became the root (heh heh) of my self-image so damned quickly, and it's making me wonder if the hair wasn't forming the self-image that I have now, but if the hair was just completing the self-image I've had for years, and seemed right just because that's how I always thought of myself.
Dunno. Although, I did notice that I was beginning, with the hair up top and the soulpatch-on-steroids down below, to look a bit like Constant.
Constant?
Well, again, if you know me, you know Constant. For the rest of you:
Here's a really bad rendition of him, done in Paint.
I never claimed to be an artist, kids.
Right. I'm sure there's something significant to be gathered here, but it's too hot and too late and I'm, potentially, too fucking old to be perceptive about myself, so I'm for outs. Have a good'n, y'all and I'll talk to you soon.
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