It was a big, beautiful day, and I made it through the whole thing! This was my target date for a long time. If I could just feel okay after chemo long enough to go to the Rotary 100th year celebration party, I would be good. Then I can start getting nauseated and have my hair fall out and on, and on, and...
I did things a little out of order. I got sick early on. I chopped off half my hair, sooner than I really had to. But I made it back to upright, well enough to go to Rotary two days in a row. I didn't stay long enough to enjoy the slideshow and the presentation of all the cool stories from our history. The venue was delightful, and I would love to rent it out someday in the future, if I ever needed a stunning event site (and had a big budget). I spoke with a handful of my friends, but my small talk tank was mostly empty. I sat and got to know a spouse who I'd rarely encountered before. And both me and Mr S-P got a serious case of pond envy. My pond is the size of a narrow, deep bathtub. Their pond was as big as a city house lot, and was fed with a diversion from the St Vrain river. Crazy beautiful.
Yesterday I had Kid the Younger come over, and told her that I didn't care how it looked, really, I was just ready to have the short hair. Her hair-cutting style is unique, so it isn't quite as professional as if I'd paid someone to do it, but that wasn't what I was looking for. When it grows back for my birthday, then I'll pay people. For now, I wanted to play. We did The Cut, the Soccer Mom, the Karen, The Let-Me-See-Your-Manager, whatever you call it. It was just a way point, and it was even less flattering on me than I expected, and I had low expectations. Kid's portrait photography is not nearly as kind as her sister's better-trained eye, so I will not be sharing those pictures. Then we moved through other phases. One was The Emo. All my hair was pushed forward over my face (with the back shaved short already). From under the mass of jagged bangs, I moaned, "My kids don't understand me." Kid and her friend who had joined us appreciated that.
From there, we transitioned through J-Pop or K-Pop, depending on which Pacific Rim nation's boy-band dance music you wanted to compare my style to. Finally, getting tired, we did a long pixie. I couldn't recall at the moment who I was going to ask it to come out like, but eventually (after they left) I remembered: Halsey. I most definitely do NOT look like Halsey, but it was an admirable goal. A lofty goal. An unattainable goal.
Again, her photos made me look like I needed to be braless in a housecoat, standing on my front porch, waving a cigarette with a long ash, shouting to passing cars in authentic Okie gibberish. They should not see the light of day. By bedtime, my natural wave was making me look pointedly like Suze Orman. I kind of finger-combed it and vowed to start over today. After a wash and a handful of mousse, I just tamed it under a scarf with a top-bow. I figure I need practice there too. So I ended up a little rockabilly, a little punk, and a lot (LOT) older than I started out three weeks ago.
Two pictures are completely, utterly without makeup. One has a little. Be kind. I won't be putting a lot of effort that direction until, oh let's say, well after Labor Day. Gonna be pale and gaunt, and still pleased to be pushing forward through it all, even if I'm not smiling.
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