I don’t think I have time to write all about my hair. In fact, I know I don’t, because I had to get up stupid, crazy early on a friggin Saturday so I can take my talented, amazing children to an important string competition in BFE, which is what I call any place in Indiana where there are more churches than bars, where corners are littered with cows instead of empty liquor bottles, and I’m not sayin that’s a bad thing at all, but it is early and cold and it’s unfair that children expect parental support and involvement in the morning on a weekend because I am already tired from early morning rehearsals on schooldays.
I got an email about a concert this month and praise be to puppies, it’s in the evening. But I bet the rehearsals aren’t.
I remember when they banged on pots and pans, when they had toy instruments. That never started before 9am, plus, I could stay home in my sweats and drink coffee and smile at their racket.
My hair takes hours to dry on its own and I hate blowing out my hair like I hate morning. Rather than wake at 4am, I opted to wash my hair last night and let it dry while I slept. I knew I would look like this when I woke up. I also knew I would wear my trusty white sweater with the big snag. My sweater and my hair represent me — Don’t touch, I am one strand away from unraveling.
Stream of Consciousness Saturday ‘hair’ is brought to you by LindaGHill