I keep batting around the idea of shaving my head. For real this time, and on my own. Part of me is curious to see when exactly it will start really and truly coming out in clumps, as they say it will.
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And part of me sees it already breaking off, cracking almost in half. I realized last night that my hair— is shorter. Not because its been cut, but because it is brittle, and weak, and is breaking apart. It’s just not coming out at the roots. Not yet anyway. Or at least not much. There’s more on my hands in the shower when I wash it. Root. Follicle. Full strands. And I know its coming.
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So what wins? My curiosity? Or my fear? . I guess I just don’t know yet.
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Wow. The universe is a lover of irony. I just came away with a half handful of hair from the back of my head by my neck.
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All the thinking about it. And I was so not ready for that.
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