I cut my hair

Well, not me actually, I paid a hairdresser to do it, but still, you know what I mean. A few inches gone! Well, maybe a more than a few. It barely hits my chin now. Okay, I really lost about 12 inches of dark hair. It’s never been this short in decades. But I HAD to.

So why, is such a mundane thing worthy of a blog? Well, mostly because it has to do with my writing. My hair was interrupting me, making me lose the flow, distracting my fingers from doing what they should be doing–writing stories –like my current work in progress with Josh Lanyon, MEXICAN HEAT.

I would be writing away and then I’d have to stop to shove my hair back out of my eyes, then I needed to twist it off my neck, when I should be typing, I’d have to pause to run my hands through it and pull it back from my face, tuck it behind my ears, throw a headband on it or more than once, twirl it into a bun and shove a pencil though it. Look at all the writing time I’m losing out on! Just to tame my hair. And I have a dozen project and items I need to be doing. I can’t waste time, even a little of it on this hair… thing!

So I did it. Just got up and left the house and did it. To the sound of pretty much unanimous reactions at home. My youngest son, smooth talker that he is, frowned and immediately said, “Why did you to that to yourself?” Nice.

Then the teenage son barreled into the house talking 90 miles an hour about something massively important like some grudge band, only to stop mid-sentence and shout, “WHAT DID YOU DO?” I don’t think it was because he was overcome with excitement and joy. Again, another charmer. Says something about my parenting skills I’d rather not examine closely.

My husband, after 26 years of marriage has learned to nod and say, “Looks nice, dear,” whether he means it or not. He’s pretty good at it by now and I almost believed him. Almost.

And the worst part? I left them all in a huff and went off to get back to my writing. It flowed! Right up until I started running my hands through what little was left, tucking it behind my ears and shoving it off my face. Even when it couldn’t possibly be in my face because ‘it’ barely exists anymore.

So now I still have a dozen plus projects to get ‘flowing’ and no hair. This morning when I brushed my hair, I actually scratched my back with the hairbrush trying to comb out the extra foot of hair that wasn’t there anymore.

I’d pout if I had the time.

Written by Laura Baumbach

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