My haircut and possible magnum opus.

The barber’s was quiet when I got there, got taken right away. The girl asked what I wanted and I told her to just take it all off, a number one all over. She asked me if I was sure, did I know how short that actually was, had I had it before, yadda yadda… yes to all questions. I’ll admit getting it done was a bit of an anti-climax, I was hoping it’d be more of a battle, maybe some epic music playing in the background. She’d done one side first before moving onto the other, wish I’d gotten her to take a picture of it midway through, and for a second I found myself wishing she’d started it just a little bit more over to one side, so I could dramatically tell her to stop and that I wanted a huge mohawk instead. Didn’t happen. Within a few minutes all of it was gone, and now I have a skinhead. During all of this I heard how she was tired of working there, didn’t like working with the public (but today was a good day, natch) and wanted to try out photography at the college. I’ve learned I have this effect on people, not so much that they’ll indulge every little problem onto me, but they’ll spout shite that I imagine they usually wouldn’t with other people. I don’t mind it for the most part, people who put on fake (or real when I haven’t done anything to warrant it) smiles irritate me far more.

I paid up, left the shop and noticed the difference straight away. It sounds strange, but I couldn’t feel anything move on my head, and it’s something you don’t usually notice until it’s gone. The wind made my head cold, fuck, for the first time in nearly two years I could feel the wind in the first place. I’m certain I can hear slightly better as well thanks to having my ears uncovered, nothing was covering my eyes for once either. When I got in the house the reactions ranged from my looking like a psycho to I have a head like an egg, the latter being partially true, it’s kind of brought out my chubby cheeks.

Among other downsides, namely that my glasses now no longer suit me at all, and not wearing them seems far better. I’d been needing a new pair anyway, maybe I can get that housekeeping money to stretch even further? They say copper wire was invented by two Scotsmen fighting over a penny after all.  The second and by far most serious downside is that I’d completely forgotten about the scarring on the back of my head that came about as a resulted of being punted in the napper a few times in quick succession years ago. I wouldn’t have minded so much if it was regular scarring, pale, maybe with no hair being there, the type of thing that would make people ask “How did you get that?” rather than “What’s that on the back of your head?” See, I’ve got this thing called keloid scarring, which causes the scar tissue around a wound to forget it’s fucking job and keep on going for a little bit once the original damage is healed. It’s strange that I have it because it’s far more common in “heavily pigmented” people, or if you aren’t a twat, black folk. White people having it isn’t very common apparently, and my tone of skin could probably be best described as milk bottle at the best of times. While it doesn’t look anywhere near as bad as the pictures you’re all very tempted to go look for on Google Images, it’s red and unsightly and not in any kind of cool scar shape that I could get away with. I had a few steroid injections into them before but had to give up the treatment because of work. As I’m now a dole monkey again I’m going to go to the doctor’s tomorrow and see about getting it started up again. Was just having the stereotypical big black cock too much to ask for?

Next month is also “NaNoWriMo” or “50,000 words of your choosing in a month.” Where people have November to write themselves a 175 page book. Some take it very seriously, other will simply dedicate their time to legitimise all the furry fan fiction they write. Someone on my friends list reminded me of it in a “I shan’t be here for I am creating art!” kind of way. Last year I toyed with the idea, now I may just jump right in and do it. If it’s quantity over quality they want then there’s no reason why I can’t. I may write a story about someone who’s writing a story about them writing a story revolving around attempting to upstage someone who they themselves is writing a story. BBBBBRRRRRAAAAAAAAWWWWW Inception!