A wise man who was probably an old,seasoned warrior with white hair and war scars to boot-why aren't wise old men ever young?-once said that a wise man-not in referral to himself-or maybe! I don't know. I'm not him.-not only knows when to fight,but which battles need to be fought.
I'm going through a stage of random post-adolescence that has all the signs of adolescence which is generally a worrisome trend for my growth curve where I rebel against most forms of order and organization. For some,this means quitting your job. For others,this could be wearing colours (@colourme_bad). For me,it means not combing my hair.
I cut my hair because I don't like hair,and yet don't have the guts to go bald. I have let it grow into an untamed mass of glory because,like sulfur-crested cockatoos and randy 22 year olds,some things are meant to be free. As you can imagine,dear reader,not everyone agrees with me,LEAST of all my conservative mother who is convinced that my do has damned me to unemployed hell and has already crossed the line of issuing ultimatums. Unfortunately-something parents refuse to realize-the quickest way to make an adolescent/post-adolescent/rebel-without-a-cause-just-finished-uni...person is to forbid them to do it.
It's amazing how much chaos the thought of disorder throws into people's little bubbles of reality. The reaction is usually 50/50. Some people absolutely love my hair and thus proceed to cut their own. Deaconesses at church,however,keep offering to buy me combs. They've clearly been fraternizing with @ArcherMishale.
I don't get why it bothers people so much. Even more so,I can't understand why people feel like my hair gives them leeway to tell me incredibly rude things. Like my hair makes me look unfeminine-is that a word?-and I'll never get married. Because,of course,that's the be-all-end-all of what I want to do with my life,and I'll be thrown into an abyss of confusion and dire despair if I'm not married by the wizened age of 35.
At first,it was the convenience of not combing my hair,then it became me wanting to piss stuck up prudes off,they who shiver at the concept of coloring outside the lines. My middle finger at propriety. Sticking it to conservatism. You get the picture. But then I had an enlightening conversation with @ekwasa-yes,I too was surprised,and among the things we talked about was conformism. Maybe the reason I was doing this was because so passionately against-or afraid-of being one of the other robots. He made of see that you don't have to be scared of conforming if you're comfortable with who you are,because you have nothing to prove.
I like to believe that I'm many kinds of amazing,so this shouldn't be a problem. I think I'll make a deal with my mom-if I can't get a job this month,ok,maybe,maybe, *shrug* I comb my hair. (if I can though,it's totally over for all forms of parental control. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!) And to satisfy my apathetic nature,I'll get a nipple ring. Or something.
ps. So many times I nearly pressed the Closing Browser button. *wiping hypothetical sweat off brow*
ps. Happy New etc.