since surgery, one thing i haven’t given two craps about is my appearance. it’s a gargantuan process just to shower and shave my legs without ending up with a faceplant in the process, so anything more than that is overkill. i wear sundresses all of the time, except on PT days, not because they’re cute but because they’re WAY easier than pulling running shorts over my Terminator leg.
since being granted admission into One Crutch Land, i do blow-dry my hair. which is good, because now that it’s not halfway down my back, there’s zero weight working to tame it by sheer power of gravity. i look like a burr immediately after i get done towel-drying my hair, so a five-minute blow-dry at least moves me from plant to human again.
not a cute look. trust me.
at any rate, i have also discovered that my previously short and cute pixie has grown like a weed on speed, and is venturing towards un-tame-able. i insisted, as always when i donate my hair, on longer side bangs, because i detest my forehead. i’m convinced that it’s distractingly large, and unless i’m at the gym i never let it out to play.
sadly, right now my hair, with it’s shortness and slight puffiness, combined with the long, sideswept bangs, is starting to look like a tribute to justin bieber. which is even worse than dealing with a fivehead. so today, before i hobbled my way outside for a “walk,” i bit the bullet and threw some bobby pins in my hair. dandelion puff tamed, bieber hair conquered…forehead exposed.
the other thing i have head slim to no time or patience for is makeup. i’ll occasionally throw on eyeliner because i feel like an alien without it, but the only time i really go out is to go to PT. and that usually involves tears, so what the hell’s the point?
now i’m sitting here with a totally naked face and an even more naked forehead. i wince, but only slightly, every time i crutch my way past the bathroom mirror. i still think my forehead is huge, and i still think that i look funny with no eyeliner on. but i’m still here, still existing; the world hasn’t come to a halt because my meticulous self-care and flaw-camouflage routine has been disrupted.
no, my wall hanging isn’t crooked. my lap is haha.
maybe this has been my baptism by fire, life forcing me into a little bit more acceptance and self-love.
i’m still getting bangs back when i finally make it to the hairdresser again.