i think the news about roxy was my breaking point. i cried for a good 15 hours, giving myself a headache in the process. and then got out of bed at 8:00 this morning, made myself quasi-presentable (quite a feat when there were intermittent crying jags) and got in the car at ten.
at eleven i was sitting in my hairdresser’s chair, telling her bluntly that i was donating my hair, i didn’t care that i just barely had the minimum length of 10″, and just…let’s go.
my hairdresser is a hoot and i adore her. we talked nonstop the entire hour. i wanted short and funky; that’s damn well what i got. sure, i didn’t change anything about the circumstances surrounding my life. but (a) i donated something i am blessed to have naturally, to an organization that makes it into a beautiful gift for a child who isn’t so lucky; (b) spontanaeity can do the heart good; and (c) it’s less permanent than the tattoo i was also contemplating.
am i any less sad about roxy? no. did this bring my mom back? of course not. but sometimes you just want to not feel like you, even if it’s just for the hour that you’re watching your hair drop to the floor in tufts.
we do what we have to do to survive, to keep going. one foot in front of the other can take you to all the ends of the earth.