Cutting Hair to Prove Insignificance

I went to the park today. Huge news, I know.

It was incredibly large and very beautiful. There were so many dogs. People too–a whole bunch of both. It was really very exciting for me, so please, save your judgments.

I got sun-kissed; not burned, as I refuse to allow myself to be that vulnerable. My chest and scalp are just blushing; there were A LOT of people. Makes sense to me.

There are so many people in the world. Do you ever think about that? There are so many people. Mostly, this makes me feel better–less significant. Like my fuck-ups don’t matter, really. They’re just as insignificant as I am, if not more so. It’s great.

So post-park, wet with aloe, my newfound insignificance and I decided to cut my hair. With bright green, child-safe, craft scissors.

For your sake, dear reader, I wish it ended terribly. That I could give you a horrifying photo of a job so poorly done. But alas. I did not, in fact, fuck-up. It looks mad decent.

I cut some pieces around my face that blow around in my eyes. It’s so great. Now, I can hardly see all the other people.

I looked in the mirror, fist of hair in hand, and felt insignificant.

How wonderful.

But still, this insignificance does not encourage me to fuck-up. No, no. It humbles me. Like maybe I did have to leave school 3 times. Maybe I did have to spend months learning how to eat. But so what? I don’t matter.

It doesn’t discourage me either. The insignificance I feel doesn’t make me want to spend my life in some kind of drunken stupor. No, it just allows for my messy decisions to stop torturing me. That ‘s not a bad thing right?

I still write. An insignificant girl and her purposeless words. Fucking up.

That guy walking by with a dog has parents, who have siblings with kids and friends. And those friends have parents with siblings and friends. So does it matter that I forgot my friend’s birthday 6 months ago? No!

Well, that one kinda does. It hurts a little more than not at all. It feels like it matters to me.

Why? Why this and not those other things?

Because I love her; we made a connection; we shared part of our lives; she means something to me.

Because she matters to me. And to her parents, siblings and friends. Because the things she’s done have impacted all of those people. Who have parents, siblings, and friends.

Shit.

Maybe I shouldn’t have cut my hair. I won’t be able to see.

Maybe I should pin it back so I don’t miss something–someone

Significant.