Hair

I am a liar, in many cases. I like to provide people with a coherent narrative for my actions so that they feel comforted. I don't want them to feel that I am strange. So I lie. I offer up explanations for my behaviors that will be eagerly snapped up to form the myth of the self. For instance: I cut my own hair because it's suprisingly resiliant to my crude efforts, and I can never explain how I want my own hair cut. When, once every 6 months or so, I do want my hair fixed, the barber can tell that it's all fucked up. They went to a cosmetology school. I'm not going to be able to sneak my crooked and asymetrical cuts past them. So I tell them I was backpacking for several months and had to cut my own hair. It's interesting. It adds a bit of flavor to me. I know enough to lie convincingly if need be, though I never need to. It is accepted without reservation as a reasonable human endevor, and they go to work cutting my hair in the stupid bowl I get every single time, no matter what instruction I give.

We speak different languages. No matter what I say, it is a bowl cut. It looks ugly. It looks acceptable in a few weeks. I don't want my hair long, but I can never have it cut short in a manner that looks good. There are books with hairstyles, but they all look the same to me. Some day I will go in with a picture printed out and say....















I want to look like him.