I woke up resigned and full of dread, just before dawn. I knew this day would be a day I wouldn't like, and I resolved to distract myself from as much of it as possible. I needed fun activities, not the national news. The first thing I did after rising (well, after sticking a cup of yesterday's coffee into the microwave, that is), was to put on my hair-dying t-shirt, and dig out the bleach. I promised my daughter that I'd prep my hair to receive a color I'd never tried before. I mixed up a huge batch of lightener (which smelled horribly of ammonia), and sat for almost an hour with it coating my hair on the bottom six or seven inches. I washed it out in the shower and looked in the mirror to see what good it had done. Not much. There were a few new blonde streaks, but the underside of medium brown remained nearly untouched. My younger daughter showed up an hour later, with her favorite scissors and feathering razor, ready to have at me. I have never let this child cut my hair before, but I realized it was time. She has as much experience cutting hair (mostly her own) now as I had at that age in designing and sewing clothes, when I had a business doing it (we both started practicing at age 6). I decided to trust her. She took between two and three inches of hair off of the length and layered it expertly, and then set about evening up the front shape that had looked awful since I tried to trim it myself months ago. Then she took the pale lilac dye I bought (that came out of the tube a stunning purple), and gave me my first not-from-nature semi-permanent hair color ever. I've been wanting to put in this color for months, and the tube of dye was sitting in my linen closet since August or September, waiting for me to feel brave. Lessons learned so far are to use more of the lightener plus a stronger developer to lift more natural color out of my hair, and to leave the bold color in a whole lot longer. Right now I just have little peeks of lavender, just enough to make me want to make it darker purple right away. It's kind of like I was warned when I got my first small tattoo at age 19. It's just enough to get you hooked, and you'll want more and more. I still have some of the pastel lilac left in the tube, but today I purchased a tube of neon purple to go alongside it. The butterfly is coming out of her chrysalis.
We spent the rest of the day shopping. I refused to look at the internet or television the whole day. I couldn't bear it. It was so nauseating to me that I actually preferred to be in a giant mall, surrounded by strangers, carrying heavy bags through crowded stores with loud piped-in music. I was doing all right until I had to stand around Hot Topic, waiting for my daughter to look at every single tiny thing in there, searching for the one thing she wanted to give away. Ever since my kids were pre-teens, Hot Topic has made me feel claustrophobic, something that is unusual for me generally. As I used to do before, I told my girl that I'd wait outside, and I held her bags while I stood in front of the store. I must have stood there way more than 30 minutes. I'd been holding up okay while we were walking around the mall, but that period of standing and shifting back and forth on my feet set off every old, inflamed, autoimmune-eaten ounce of connective tissue in my body. I could have sat down about 50 feet away from the store, down a spur hallway, but there was a gigantic television in front of the leather sofas there. I turned my back to it and instead just stood there in agony, waiting. All of those years, shopping or just standing about has done this to me, but not until now did I have a vocabulary for what is going on with me, and an understanding of how serious it is and what my options are. I was 25 miles away from my bottle of Tramadol, but I knew that getting back into motion as soon as possible and then sitting on a heated seat would tide me over until I could get home to it. I just had to voice my plan, and it was understood and accepted. It's so far removed from a lifetime of hurting and getting angry and acting out because I couldn't believe that these simple activities were as devastating to my health as they are, and because it was assumed that I was exaggerating my discomfort. Now we all know what it is and why it must be addressed. That makes it easier on all of us, and attitudes stay much more positive and convivial.
I peeked at Twitter just a little, to confirm that history has taken a dark turn. I truly believe that mistakes have been made, and compounded, and it's going to take hard evidence to the contrary to lessen my bad attitude about the situation. The purpose of my writing has never been to push a specific political agenda, and I will do everything I can to keep it that way. My writing does, however, float on the current of my emotions, and they are turbulent indeed right now. I'm planning on refocusing those emotions into the piece of fiction that threw itself at me yesterday, and grew as rapidly as the Grinch's heart this afternoon. It will be more productive than peals of gloom and doom or vitriol at people who think differently than I do. This will continue to be a mostly apolitical, escapist, self-affirming retreat for as long as I can keep it that way.
(Before -- before bleach and before coffee)
(When it's just a few highlights on top of your head, you don't notice as much how badly it smells of ammonia)
(If only it stayed that vivid purple)
(It's a start. Next step: adding in dark neon purple beside the lilac!)
No comments:
Post a Comment