Sunday, July 26, 2009

Blowin' In The Wind

I have slightly crazy hair. To call it "curly" probably isn't quite fair, if only because that's an insult to all the curly-headed people out there. My hair looks curly...but we both know (my hair and I) that it's totally faking. Without the daily scrunching intervention, my hair would be slightly frizzy, completely unruly, and unevenly cowlicked...with, on a "good" day, those fancy flippy cowlicks at my temples that haven't been in vogue since 1973. I used to keep it really short so that it would be easier to manage...but, frankly, that made me look (even) older than I am... So I scrunch and product and fluff until it forms into something slightly crazy, but pretty ok.

We've had a rather tumultuous relationship, my hair and I. For a whole lot of years, my hair totally determined what kind of day I'd have. A good hair day meant confidence and take-on-the-world attitude. A bad hair day could leave me cranky and itching to get home from work so I could pull it out of my face and just be done with it. There's probably an actual psychological condition for letting one's hair have that much power...whatever it's called, I'm making good progress at working through it.

Every little now and then, however, I'm in love with the crazy that is my hair. Though it's most predictable in the winter, the winds of the other three seasons set it free...and I remember why I grew it out in the first place.

Tonight was one of those nights. I was dreading the long drive back home after a thoroughly lovely afternoon with Miss Shirley and her amazing cast of family and friends. It was rather muggy and I was very (very) well fed and I didn't want to leave (though I knew I needed to get home) and the prospect of being in the car for an hour was loathsome to say the least.

But then I hit the open road with the windows down and the music turned way up...and my hair began to blow around in a crazy tornado and I Overwhelmingly, completely, utterly free. An hour of driving suddenly didn't seem nearly long enough...and I began to wonder if I could justify owning some sort of convertible...and I imagined scooping up my best friend and driving for awhile before we stopped somewhere and laid on top of the hood to stare up in the sky, talking til we ran out of words... I dreamed and I sang and I pushed the stray corkscrew curls out of my eyes and laughed.

It was fantastic: for an hour, I was graced with
wide open thoughts racing through my mind...and the windows down and the air rushing past while the music played...and amazing, crazy freedom swirling around my head. This was definitely a good hair day.

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