|The red with the black tips.|
"I'm in a rut." I tell them. I haven't written, edited or even opened one of my files in a few weeks. Why?
Is it because I'm tired? Been off for three weeks. Is it because I'm still grieving? No. My heart has settled, and I'm dealing. Is it because it's January, and everything is cold, dark and dreary? Maybe. Everyone around me feels that too.
My birthday is around the corner, and there's a new meme circulating on Facebook. It wants to know how we AGED.
Oh dear God, if you follow me on Facebook, Twitter, Linked In or Instagram you may have noticed that there aren't many pictures of me. I don't like how I look. I have an oval shaped head. I have acne in my wrinkles and Rosacea on my acne scars. My dislike of sitting in a hairdressers chair means I frequently need a haircut. And I'm bored with blonde, I only keep it now because it's easy--
"You're bored with blonde?" Rita asks. "Do you have a different color in mind? What did you feel confident in?" We talked about the red. We talked about the red,black and blonde and how hard it was to maintain. We talked about the red with the black tips.
Remember the eighties? All those wild hair colors? I remember wishing I could wear them, but I was too young then and I wasn't really allowed. And I wished I could do that now.
"Why not?" Rita asks. BECAUSE, I tell her. I'm almost 47 years old. It's going to look stupid. When I was seventeen, I saw a thirty-something soccer mom in a Metallica T-Shirt, and it insulted my eyes. I knew her too....No way that women owned a Metallica album.
"People like you can still pull that off." Melaida says. "Some people still have that spirit with them, and it doesn't look silly."
I thought of an old friend of my husband's, who envied my metal shirts. "Why don't you wear them?" He asked. I felt like I was too old for them, I explained. I was afraid of looking like I didn't belong in them. "But you do." He said, "Those are your bands. That's part of who you are."
The more thought I give to all this, the more I became convinced that I am denying my true self. I'm in a rut, because the real me has to bust out. So here's what I did...
|Holy shit...I feel pretty!|
You know what? It's exactly what I needed. I needed the bright hair and the shouty black lipstick. I realize now, I'm not comfortable with looking normal. It makes me feel frumpy. I don't see me applying for jobs or hanging in pubs looking like this, but it feels good. Yeah, I've grown older, but who says I have to feel or look old?
I can honestly tell you that this is the very first time since I had my photo taken professionally that I've liked a picture of myself. Oh, it feels AWESOME! I feel like I can conquer those worlds I love to blurt through my fingers. I'm excited to be myself again.
If you'll excuse me, my blue hair and I have some snarling, sassy bitches to create.