As far as parts of me go, I’d say my hair is of middling goodness.
My favorite bits of the bod, of course, are my spacious eyelids. This really throws eating disorder therapists for a loop, though. They say, “focus on the parts of yourself you like.” And I always close my eyes.
I used to dye my hair blonde, but I ran out of money and the desire to change myself. This is the stance I take with most everything these days. Unapologetic brown hair. It pays off eventually.
When I was in the hospital, I tacked a picture of the Grand Canyon to the wall across from my bed. A very kind nurse printed out an incredibly pixelated, black and white photo of this big hole, and gave it to me.
Very nice gesture, really depressing gift. Like a bottle of wine. Or cutlery.
I’ve never been to the Grand Canyon but I talk about it like an old war buddy. Making plans to go and see it but never really getting there. Thinking of it fondly. Crumpled old picture in a drawer somewhere.
My hair is growing again. After many years of halted follicles, we have movement. It’s really nice. It touches my elbows now–that brown mess. I shove it all in a hat when I run. This usually works, but sometimes the hat falls off and swoosh–I feel like a dramatic bitch.
Then it sticks to the sweat on my forehead.
I’m reminded of the time someone stood in the shower and asked me to shave the back of her head. She couldn’t reach and so I stood shearing off her long, straight hair like it was my god-given mission.
She kept it, put it in a box–her hair, and gave it to me on my birthday that year. Absolute loon. She was incredible.
Most everyone goes to the Grand Canyon. It’s an unimpressive dream, and that is part of why I keep it.
I can have it if I want–I can go.
I will, dear reader. Certainly sometime.
All my love.
Take care.
Girl Seeking Peanut Butter 