Amnesia. That’s the only real excuse for not posting for over 100 days. It’s actually closer to 200 days, but I’m blonde, so I can pretend that I’m not good at math. However, I was not stricken with amnesia (do people really get amnesia? Or is it just a convenient plot device used in soap operas and David Lynch movies?), I was consumed by work. I was given an option – I took the red pill and ventured down the rabbit hole (The Matrix has been on TNT a lot lately). I could have stayed in LA, had a somewhat easier (I think it was probably more “convenient” than “easy” but I’m not about to nitpick over my diction today) job, but I had an opportunity to have an adventure. What kind of BLONDE would I be if I said no to that?
So I traveled and worked my ass off. And it was wonderful. And terrible. It was an experience that I’m sure I will look back on fondly, but at the moment, I’m just tired. Even typing this right now seems so foreign. I haven’t taken the time to be self-indulgent for so long and it feels strange. I love writing, but this blog seems so self-involved, so self-centered. I’m used to writing for myself, and essentially no one reads this blog, so I suppose I am writing for myself… just in an embarrassing public forum. But just like if a tree falls in the forest… if a writer blogs, and no one is there to read it… did the writer really blog at all? Sometimes I feel that way; I get way too into my head and I overanalyze and criticize and belittle myself. I have things to write, and I’m not writing for you, I’m writing for me – and if you don’t like it, don’t fucking read it. I have a voice for a reason and I’m not about to let any stupid negative thinking get in the way. Sure, this blog may be about my blonde hair, but if that’s all you see than this is not the place for you.
Taking time away from this has been good and bad. I haven’t been writing, and writing is like a muscle – you need to exercise it or it goes into atrophy and withers and dies. So this post may be long and rambling, or it might be meandering and unrestrained. However, being away from my daily cerebral analysis of my mental and physical perceptions has allowed me to change more radically then I think I was allowing before because I was monitoring myself so religiously. Or it enabled me to change drastically because I wasn’t tethered to my daily cognitive assessments. Which came first? The chicken or the egg? How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop? The world may never know (although that fucking owl said it was 3, but I don’t trust him).
The truth is that there is no truth. No, I’m not about to get philosophical on you. I can’t even remember if I took a philosophy class in college. Could that be the one where I feel asleep constantly and people talked about Ayn Rand without end? Anyway, my point is if we’re approaching my BLONDE year as a case study, it is severely flawed and I know that. There is no control subject, and I can’t really compare my experiences as a BLONDE during these 12 months to my experiences as a redhead during a different 12-month period. The 12-month periods would have to be the same 12-month periods because I have no power over the external stimuli (life changes, deaths, snowstorms, social situations, etc…). And I can’t be both a BLONDE and a redhead at the same time, and I can’t have someone else be the control subject because they’re not me, so I can completely understand why my BLONDE year as a serious sociological experiment is pretty much inconclusive. All of my data is emotional, subjective drivel, but that doesn’t mean that this foray into social experimentation was a failure. I didn’t do this for science. I didn’t do this to make the world a better place. I did this for purely selfish reasons.
I have come to realize certain inalienable truths that I want to hold on to for myself, and I believe that these are worth their price at the salon:
1. Regardless of my physical appearance, people will judge me and draw their own conclusions about who I am, what my intentions are, and what I am capable of. It is not my responsibility to prove them right or wrong, but I can acknowledge the existence of these prejudices and move on.
2. My life is my own and while some may consider that philosophy selfish, I’m not concerned with their opinions. Ultimately, I am the master of my own destiny and I won’t let someone else dictate my thoughts or actions. This is my bed, and I’m going to have to lay in it, I might as well be the one to make it (that way I can have the good sheets and make sure the fitted sheet is on all the way so the one corner doesn’t pop up in the middle of the night).
3. Taking care of yourself is not selfish. That’s why the flight attendant always tells you to put your oxygen mask on before assisting others. If I lose consciousness, who the hell is going to help them? That is the lesson we’re supposed to learn for the in-flight safety schpeel, right? There is a difference between being selfish, selfless, and self-sacrificing. Martyrs are great, but I get the feeling they didn’t have too many friends. Call my crazy (or ungrateful)… I don’t know…
4. Not every thought needs to be expressed. In a world of facebook, twitter, and whatever the next thing will be, it’s hard to just refrain from letting it all spill out. Freedom of speech and all that, but it’s not all going to be gold.
5. I like to write, but unfortunately I don’t get to do it as often as I’d like. I wish that someday I could make a living from making art and writing stories, but sometimes I just don’t want to share. The moment I let other people read what I write (like this blog, per se), I’m opening myself to criticism and it’s not that I can’t take it, but sometimes I don’t want it. I don’t do these things for other people. I write because I find joy in it. I paint and draw and redo furniture because I love it. I am going to stop using the excuse that I “don’t have time” to do these things, because if they are things that I enjoy, I’m not going to put them off.
6. My grandmother died. She was one of my favorite people in the world. Her love of candy was unparalleled, but when my mom was collecting her things, she found boxes of chocolates, bags of candies, etc. that she was saving. It’s one thing to stash away money for when you retire, or keep a roll of cookie dough in the freezer, but you shouldn’t deny yourself things now and “save them for later.” Don’t save things for later because there may not be a later. Be prudent, not stingy; be merry, not overindulgent.
7. Following your dream isn’t selfish (as long as pursuing your dream doesn’t directly harm someone else – hopefully you don’t dream about mass murder or anything). It’s how you chart your course that can be selfish.
8. I am a feminist in every sense of the word. I believe in equality for everyone – Blondes, brunettes, redheads – as well as every other color of the rainbow. Having spent such a length of time focused on social norms and the fundamentals on which our social constructs are based, I can’t really remain silent anymore. Women are not being treated properly – and not just in America – AROUND THE WORLD. And certainly there are women who refuse to stand up, or fight convention because it’s “too much effort” or whatever. It’s one thing to “not feel like it,” but it’s totally different when your oppressor (or oppressive, patriarchal society) won’t let you fight for your rights. I never thought that blonde hair would lead to becoming a feminist warrior, but it totally did.
9. Take a compliment; say “thank you.”
I think these truths were probably no-brainers in hindsight, but I think they were harder to come by than you might think. You second-guess yourself, you rationalize your fears, and you take steps backward.
Since the beginning of 2012, I had my hair cut and tipped hot pink. My friend E did it and it’s PHENOMENAL. I’m still blonde, but I figured why not have some fun with it, right? Is it different having pink hair? Yes. People look at you, but people also smile at you. I’ve had total strangers tell me how much they love my hair. And as much as I would like for someone compliment me on my brain or my witty t-shirt, I can take a compliment on my appearance and not let it shame me into thinking that I’m a vapid, self-obsessed twat.
Will this blog continue? Yes, but probably not daily. I don’t think I’ll post unless I have something to say. It’s not all gold, but it doesn’t have to be. Because I said so.
Today gets 5 Barbie Warhols:
