Baking is fun. Baking is wonderful. I feel domestic and fulfilled when I mix things and feed them to my oven. I usually bake on the wax of the moon, but I was not so lucky. I was preparing the kitchen by cleaning and disinfecting it before I start using the counters actively for food stuffs.
I rinsed the dishes, and picked a loose hair off my arm. I make a mental note to myself to put my hair up before the actual baking. I stacked the dishwasher miserly. Fit as many dishes as possible, conserve water, conserve the softness of my hands.
I begin to wash the counter of the stove, removing the burners and the crumb catchers so that I may do a proper job of cleaning the stove. I feel a tickle on my arm. Another loose hair. I pick it off and make a note to sweep the floor of any more of my hairs which have decided to divorce me.
I wash the measuring utensils by hand. I could put them in the dishwasher, but I like the feel of my spoons and cups in my hand. To an extent, I like to wash dishes. I can escape and almost find zen.
Tickle tickle. What could that be? Another loose hair. Curse this PCOS. It's been like this for years. Cutting it all off last year helped for a little while. Soon as my hair gets the slightest length, It falls out. In clumps in the shower and when I brush my hair. But mostly in this annoying little fashion that must tickle me to remind me that my hair is indeed falling out.
Enough. Accept that you will never have long and thick hair again. Accept that you may very well be one of those women who bald with PCOS. It's just hair. The only person identifying me as my hair is me. That last vanity.
"Fuck this, it's only hair." I say, and march upstairs to the bathroom. I wet down my hair and bend it over the tub brushing it out straight. I am going to cut my hair off. Where are the scissors? Under the sink, where they belong. I grab them, make a final brushing through my hair and hold them in my hand ready to snip away.
I stop short. "You are too upset to do this. Take yourself right now to a professional. Get a real cut."
So I did. Goodbye long hair. I will court you no more.
Posted by hawkie at February 15, 2004 04:32 PM