Darling Don't You Go and Cut Your Hair

I don't remember the circumstances, but one time in High School I got pretty upset. Really upset. I can't remember why or what caused it, but I was pissed. I know I stormed out of a class room, a pair of scissors in hand, making my way out of sight and down the halls. My friends Jacob and Carni chased after me, worried about what I might do with a set of scissors in my highly agitated state. I'm not sure what they expected when they ran breathlessly into the bathroom -

But I'm pretty sure it wasn't me in front of a mirror, very calmly attempting to cut my hair, looking relatively surprised at their befuddlement.

I got so angry I needed a change, then and there.

Fast forward to earlier tonight when, sitting at my computer attempting to write a post, I was struck with an extreme and sudden wave of Existential Depression. The kind of depression you get when looking at people in line at the grocery store, and suddenly realize how pointless we all are (this happens a LOT to me in grocery stores, I don't know why there specifically). A sudden, total, and complete understanding of the insignificance of the average individual and your definite place within that system. A brief burst of hopelessness. Never long lived, but overpowering.

Today it was the Facebook mini-feed that did it; an array of status updates without charm or wit that made me realize once again the arrogance it takes to assume that we have something worth putting out to the world and just how easily we all assume that to be true, without thought or effort. None of which made attempting to write easier - compounded by a computer running the speed of a dying tortoise and a broken chair, things were not going well. The Existential Depression swiftly turned into a wave of self loathing (funny how that happens - my theory is that self-directed anger is much easier to feel ownership over than insignificance) until I was standing in the bathroom, staring in the mirror shaving my chest.

That's right - obviously the natural evolution of my impromptu hair cut some 6 or 7 years ago.

I was a good pectoral and a half done before I realized I was making a pretty big mistake. But a half-shaved chest looks even worse than a very conspicously shaven chest so at that point I had pretty much made the commitment.

I now feel ridiculous.

I have this need to create immediate physical change when I feel personal disatisfaction; as if I can somehow assume total control over my appearance and therefore my life and attractiveness (which is what this always comes down to). Body hair is a major self-esteem issue of mine (I hate it, can you tell?) second only to weight. That obviously has no quick fix so suddenly I'm in the bathroom presiding over a shearing. What I seem to forget every time though is that the result of this impromptu power struggle never, ever, looks good and invariably leaves me feeling even worse; because now I have to worry about the ludicrousness of chest stubble if I hook up with anyone over the next month.

The lesson should probably be something related to body image and self acceptance or the beauty of individuality even on Twitter or in Giant.

But I'm pretty sure it's actually that I need to be kept away from styling devices anytime I feel down or I'm going to spend my life looking like a test subject for bad DIY fashion trends.

And that tomorrow is gonna be REALLY itchy.
Gotta say girls, I don't know how you do it.