Even though I was in a small car with three other people for most of my winter break, I still managed to get left alone long enough to cut off about five inches of hair one afternoon in the bathroom.
The thing about staring yourself in the mirror and saying “whatever, hair grows back” and shrugging indifferently is that the growing back is agonizing (as a metaphor for things in life that take patience and–no implied meaning–as several months of bad hair days).
I’m starting to think there’s a correlation between girls who have the patience to grow their hair out and girls who have the patience to find and keep boyfriends.
I’m taking oboe lessons again, because I needed a few more credits this semester and because I realized recently that I wasted three and a half years being melodramatic about playing music and it was time to suck it up and move on with life.
It’s fun because Candy bestows such gems during our time together as “I’ve noticed all these boys talk to you. You could have a million boyfriends” and “Don’t be nervous. No one knows who you are” and “Is that from Value Village? You could be a Value Village model.”
But it’s also fun because, oh yeah, I love this. I forgot that.
It’s the Baha’i fast again. The time of year between March 2-20 where Baha’is don’t eat or drink between sunrise and sunset. Tomorrow is day 5 out of 19.
Usually I look forward to this time of year. I like challenging myself and figuring out what I’m capable of, whether it’s skipping lunch or moving a million miles away or managing a newspaper for a year or feigning indifference at my most recent self-imposed haircut.
And I like the reminder that we’re more than our material connection to this world.
But this year it feels different. Like I’m just going through the motions.
It snowed today. Soft, small Fairbanks flakes that have been piling up outside since I got out of bed this morning. The kind of snow that just happens. The kind that makes me exasperated with and appreciative of winter all at once.
I don’t know at what point I started to like Fairbanks so much. It just started, soft and small, piling up slowly, until at some point I realized I was wading through three inches of affection and it was sticking to my boots and melting onto the hem of my jeans, staying damp long after I shook it off.