Impulsiveness

So, I'm a bit of a control-freak.

I don't really think I am, until I suddenly am faced with a situation where I feel powerless, and then it hits. Definite control-freak. And, well, the world isn't set up to make us control-freaks happy all the time, what with uncertainty, surprise, the unexpected, ambiguity and inconclusiveness that seems to be in ready supply in life. And when I feel powerless, I'm usually spurred into something where I feel like I'm in control. Like shopping. But, the economy sucks, so I turn to my second best defense against powerlessness . . . I do something drastic with my hair. It's really a better option than shopping, as it's fairly cheap and easy to change, and it always grows back. Something not true of money, as nobody has found the fabled money tree yet.

So, I've been in the midst of a week where I've been forced to be patient. Not something I'm really that great at. And where I'm confronted with the reality that we really have very little control over a lot of things. And you just have to be OK with that. Something else I'm not that great at. So, last night, after yet another day of being no closer to an answer or conclusion or whatever, I turned to Greg and said, "I want to cut my hair." He was probably afraid I was gonna whip out scissors and go to town on it right there, but instead I picked up the phone and called a friend who's cut my hair in the past far better than pretty much anyone else I've ever found. No answer. Well, now I already had this idea in my head, and there's no turning back from that. So, I was prepared to spend the extra money, and risk a crappy cut, and drive to the nearest place that said it cut hair, and ask them to lop several inches off. Greg, being incredible and sweet like he's been all week, was all, "OK hon, I'll get the kids down for bed, you just go do what you have to . . . " and basically metaphorically handed me the checkbook and sanctioned my impulsiveness. So, I drove to the first salon I noticed and got my hair cut. I think she did a good job, although I mildly started internally freaking out when I realized just how much she'd cut off the back (realizing it would take extra work to get that short of layers to do what I want). But I felt good, my hair felt lighter. I felt lighter. Kinda liberated. As lame as that is. I even bought the expensive shampoo and conditioner (feeling kinda chastised for the poor condition of my overly dry hair) and left feeling better than I had all week.

I got home, my kids were asleep, my house was quiet and my husband suggested I go take a nice bubble bath or something. Bliss, right? Until I looked in the mirror in the bathroom, when I suddenly felt like I wasn't 'done'. I hadn't made enough changes I guess, hadn't exerted enough control over those things in which I actually have control, so I got out some 'medium rich brown' hair dye, and went to town.

And now my hair looks almost black.

Crap. I should've stopped while I was ahead.

Either way though, it felt good to just go do it. To make a decision and just go with it, no matter the nearly-black consequences. I was in control. The color will fade. And my hair'll grow back. And everything will turn out just fine.



Edited to add the picture, with the following disclaimer: my hair actually looks darker in person, the flash 'brightened' it up . . . and this doesn't show how short the back is . . . I do like the picture though, and I think I'd be really happy with it the cut it wasn't for the fact it actually takes longer to do, rather than less time, 'cause of all the short layers in back.