Thursday, November 29, 2007

still lov'n gordon

Hair, I don't see what all the fuss is about.

Somedays I feel like Gordon's girl. My hair has its own personality and its own being; I think there's even an extra soul in there somewhere. I stopped trying to control it in 2000. I just let it go. It's wild, puffed, confident, annoying, de borrego, perky and self-centered. There are still traces of blond at the edges, especially around my forehead and it even survived being accidentally set on fire when my younger brother and I were playing in the mirror with lit candles. My mother had just only washed it so it was out, spread, high and big. On Baylor Street. The coils in it are unbelievably tight in micro curls and there is nothing perfect about it except its attitude. It is unpredictable and loves attention from others, not me. I refuse to look at it but once a day and sometimes, never. It never lies even though it has a trillion crosses. The rubberband strains and most often pops because the gather is too thick, too much. In the mornings after a shower, a wash--my hair is overwhelming. I don't believe I will ever try to fix it or tame it or control it again.

It's a force not to be reckoned with.

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