Cutting it Off

Well, I lasted as long as I could. A vain attempt to let my hair grow to one length just bit the dust. Couldn't stand the bangs, the hair on the back of my neck, having to mouse and spray and generally torture my hair, ao yesterday, my hairdresser took it all off. Yep, back to my short, hang-the-head-out-the-car-window-to-dry hair. Freedom. I have no patience for fooling with hair, and I admit, lots of other bits of small stuff. The older I get, the more I want to concentrate on what matters. Hair isn't one of those things, LOL.

When I'm working on a book, however, I'll fool with it 'til the cows come home. I'll spray it with ideas and stick it with words, then pull them out and throw them back in, until it feels right for the story. Getting the story into shape requires patience and persistence, both efforts I'm willing to give the work.

Not hair, however. It's on its own. I wonder about that word, hairdresser. Did it originate in the days when men and women wore elaboratelyl powdered wigs that needed 'dressing?' I'll have to check that out. I might need the information one day for a story. You never know...

Oh, just read Jennifer Archer's Off Her Rocker. I liked it, but I still think her The Me I Used to Be should have won the Rita Award. I'm also re-reading Elaine Pagel's Adam, Eve, and the Serpent. It's been a while since the last reading, and I'm still pulled into it as I read. Lots to think about.