Diary – Sunday

Hair Trauma

 

From ‘Wednesday 8 March 2017’:

You’ve got to be who you are – don’t you?  Regardless of what is going down.

 

But other people see you in a different way from how you see yourself.

You might not be living the mirror-thing, though.

But you get caught up in that anyway.

You live with buffeting that comes from other people.

 

Someone has moved in over the road who has a motor-bike.

That is now a regular roar.

 

The reason you don’t give your age, if you are a woman – you’re on the run.

Hairdressers – they want to forever give you age-related styles.

And you must also beware, if you do look ‘good for your age’, that you don’t get stuck in that, because age does show.  It always shows in one way or another.

And you don’t want to be mistaken for very much younger than you are – you can’t keep up.  You don’t want to keep up.  You’re past all that.

I’m 65.

Got to say it sometime, and face the consequences, stop that run, shake off hairdressers.

I’m a hippie! for god’s sake!

Get off my hair!

Leave it be!

But then – this short – I have lost a weight from around my neck.

That is nice because of these aches and pains.

Not age-related!

I’ve had them for years!

Age-related in another way.

No!  I won’t say what I mean!

I’m of the generation of rebels!

And I hardly rebelled then!

I’ll do it now!

 

I thought of putting much of this entry into the blog – but that would leave me too vulnerable – I can only put there what I can manage in my real life (apart from what is – habitually – ‘on the page’)…

So – this is where I am.

And the blog – it serves me – I don’t serve it.

 

No.  I’ve got to remember that it is March.  I can’t change the fact that it’s March.

But – I can work through it…

But (I get sick of saying ‘but’) – it is no use speculating.

Write, that’s all, and it’ll come out.

 

No.  It’s March.  And it will be worse next month.

I just need to hold my own where I can.

 

At the moment, I’m finding that I need to be generally more tolerant – because people are all different.

But – being ‘tolerant’ also means that I don’t expect myself to be like other people.  I’m not them.

It’s a case of finding this balance so that I’m not a complete pushover.

 

From ‘Thursday 9 March 2017’:

No.  It’s what slips into your writing – that’s what you’re really saying.

 

Woman burning – “Roll over, Missus, you’re burning!”

“I know, but I have to get out of the way first!”

Dream.

I was going along a place that I knew – into a shop – a very small Japanese woman (old) running, smiling, into a corner of the shop – the running was the only way she could move, these days.

One or two other people with her.

She was smiling because she did know it was funny that she was running (reminds me of a young kid, running away from ‘minders’, knowing it is mischievous to do).

I came out of that shop.  I was looking for something.

I went further up that road, which reminds me of somewhere near Church Lane (but not there).

It was then that I saw – up a side street – a sudden flare-up of flames – a bungalow (think it was) just combusted – orange fire.

I didn’t know that area so well, and I was trying to get my phone out of my pocket – but fumbling – tissues – I don’t know.

I knew I had to ring 999 – the fire – whoosh! – blazed from another building – it was spreading rapidly.

I knew I had to get out of the way, but I could hardly move.

It was then that I saw this woman, her handbag over her arm, shooting out of that side street – but she was on fire!

I was trying to get out of the way, knew I had to ring –

Other people were coming now from across the road – you could hear the fire spreading –

I knew one of those would be able to ring before I could – meanwhile, I was almost rooted to the spot.

I woke.

 

My hair – as the hairdresser did it yesterday – it seemed such a calamity to me – such a problem – it is too short around my face, and I can do nothing with it except stick it behind my ears…

No.  It’s March, and I’m in the throes of affectivity.

 

Oh – what I was thinking – ‘things are so awful – look what’s happened with my hair – I’ll have to go to another hairdresser – and then another one, and another one – go to hairdressers in rotation because there aren’t that many of them – because I told her, and she didn’t know what I meant – wanted her own way at being a hairdresser – but at my expense – and my glasses – I’ll never be able to tell an optician – I’ll be blamed for everything because I can’t get across what I mean – I can’t say – and the doctor-thing –’

 

From ‘Friday 10 March 2017’:

No.  There is a lot of emotional stuff going down.  I need to be careful.

 

Today difficult – that’s what I was saying – used only one lot of shampoo on hair – hardly need to wash it twice – it’s that shorn.  Hate it.  Last time I go to a hairdresser for a while – oh, none of what I say can say…

 

My encounter with the hairdresser – just last Wednesday – she said something that was just not true.

She can do hair – she is good – that is why I went back to her.

But they get –

 

My hair is short – it is in such a way that, if I bothered with hair curlers and spray and colour – I could have an actual style.

But I don’t want a style.  I like styles – on other people – some styles.  But, for me – I want my hair long, free and natural.

And – the hairdresser and me – talking at cross-purposes.

She has given me a potential style – but having already been disparaging about my actual hair, as it was when I went in there –

And it’s no better now she’s done her damnedest – because it’s hair.

My hair is fine but thick, with some wave (it has!) – and it tends to be fly-away this time of year – which is why she cut it off!

There was nothing wrong with it – it’s fly-away now, just the same – but shorter fly-away.

She’s solved nothing!

But it’s my fault!

I let it happen!

I have got to get a grip of myself when I do go to hairdressers – tell them – no – tell them nothing!

Tell them anything and they’ve got you!

Tell them nothing!

Say you want a trim at the ends (no cutting up the front – you don’t tell them, but you do that yourself when you get home!) – a trim – not a style.

If they argue – walk out!

Trim your own!

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