Hair scares and Toodle-pip!

Age plus ammonia plus peroxide have finally wrought havoc with my trademark long red locks. In the past two years I’d estimate the lengths have lost about half of their thickness and this makes me rather sad. Sadder still when I recognise that my hairdresser is right and I will indeed have to chop the whole lot off if I continue with this 6-8 weekly bleaching bonanza on my already traumatised mane. To clarify, I’m not balding yet but hair is snapping off in a most distressing way. I’ve never had to have hair cuts more often than once a year before, and now I’m on a 3 month call back and bank account draining,borderline prescription strength kerastase products and snag free invisiblobble hair ties. I’ll be popping some perfectil tablets, eating more protein and keeping those bleached lengths red in the meantime using some nice conditioning semipermanent direct dyes and just dealing with the fact that my roots are disappointingly brown and a little bit grey. Roll on two or three years when all this damage has grown out and maybe I can start afresh (but no more luminance for me). Sigh.

It’s been a blast writing these entries here but now I think it’s high time to put this blog to sleep for a well deserved (perpetual?) nap. Anonymous ranting and whingeing is overrated, unhelpful and frankly (despite the above paragraph of woeful hair lamenting) I’m getting rather bored with the sight and sound of my own inane blathering (hence the scanty entries of late). Maybe some time in the future I’ll rekindle this sparkly nonsense but more likely I’ll focus on something new elsewhere. Yay! New things! Ciao!

A veteran of things I don’t much want to be

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Sometimes the mirror is ripe with vines of shadows, circling my shoulders, pressing all too urgently and familiar.

The air suddenly slices through to my bones.

Weeping skies and hollowed heartbeats threaten to pull me back to the tornado of disjointed memories. The taste of fever and hatred is in my mouth and I wonder for a second, if I can breathe in these mirrored shards before they perforate my mind.

One eye still on the future, I swallow the bilious threats and smile because this is me looking the hypnotising past straight in the eye, and chosing to look away.

“Calculate what we will or will not tolerate”~Tool, the grudge

Shadows to light

I don’t hurt myself like I used to, but I’m reminded of it every time I undress. No-one has ever asked me about these marks, except partners, so either they are embarrassed and scared to ask, or they don’t notice. I guess it’s a bit like overlaying subtle tattoos, and they weave an old but unforgotten story that is as much a part of me as the skin that’s irreversibly scarred. Sometimes I wonder if the physical truth would make me appear attention-seeking to others, or if it lends a certain mystery to my body and mind, but mostly, I think, most of all, it reminds me of a place I will never let myself go again. For that alone, I’d never wish them gone.

I’m reminded of my physical scars because it looks like I’m off for a work trip to the USA in summer, where I will have to wear somewhat more revealing clothing due to the heat, and I’m hoping I’m going to be brave enough to go swimming in the lake this time. Unfortunately swimsuits expose the offending area, and although  I’m sure there are prettier people for others to stare at…my historical reticence for skin-baring may make me an unfortunate target.

Do I care? Well, yes and no. I have the right to flaunt my body scars or no scars, before it gets all saggy and wrinkly 😉 On the other hand, I dread being asked what those weird marks are.

You know what? Fuck it! It’s high time that I appreciated my body for how awesome it is rather than hiding parts away that I’m afraid will be judged. Expect bikini shots anon.

“Everything changes, changes for the good
Even the pain hurts like it should
Everything moves, shadows to light”~heather nova, everything changes