This afternoon, I was finally able to cut my hair. Afterwards, the upstairs bathroom looked like I murdered a wookiee.
Is it short? Well, yeah, but not too short. I tried to get pictures (not of the hair cut off, but of me afterwards) but my camera isn't being as cooperative as I'd like. Lots of dark and shadows. This is about the best one I can offer, and it's a few years old -- from the last time I had hair this short. You should get the idea, as it's about the same -- though the lighting's not great on this one either:
Yeah, so, eh. I will say that my head definitely feels a lot lighter and cooler. The hardest part about doing it was not the emotional attachment to my hair (as many of you may have been expecting), but shaving the back of the neck without two large mirrors. I had to engineer a hand mirror balancing precariously on the shelves in the bathroom, turn around with my back to the main mirror, and keep my arm out of the line of sight while shaving -- which is even harder than it sounds, trust me.
My actual hair ended up being a little bit shorter than I'd like, but that's always the case when it comes to using clippers, so whatever works. At least it's not as short as I had it during high school and/or at the end of my undergraduate career at WVU, when I had several unflattering photos taken of me looking like a skinhead.
No, I am not going to share those photos with you here -- because they're horrible -- though my high school graduation photo (taken eleven years ago) is still on Facebook, I believe. I don't suggest looking for it -- if you thought I was babyfaced without the full beard now, you should've seen me then.
Anyway, at least I know this time around that if I end up not liking it too much, it'll grow out more in a few weeks. No biggie. In the meantime, perhaps I won't sweat as much when it's 110 degrees outside now, as it has been for the majority of this week.
In other news, I've not been sleeping well. Last night I had two separate nightmares, which are rare for me to begin with, but to have two in one night is nothing short of bizarre. I think my mental state is changing. Obviously, life is stressful -- everyone's life is to a certain extent -- but apparently my underlying stress channels itself through nightmares. Of course, it could have also been that when I went to bed, I'd been awake for almost 24 hours straight, and was deliriously tired. Might've hit REM sleep hard and fast, and might've started the bad dreams then. I was so tired that I don't even know what time of night/early morning I had them, but I know that after around 10 or so, I couldn't sleep anymore.
Also, for those of you who may be interested, I haven't asked she who shall not be named out yet.
According to my friend Jane, my reasoning for not doing so is because the word "no" is the scariest word in the English language. I asked Jane what the second-scariest word was, already knowing the answer that she would tell me a few moments later: "Yes."
Why am I so afraid? I've never been afraid of anything or anyone, at least in this sense, ever before. Yet now, when I'm at the most independent stage of my life I've ever had, when I'm single and can afford groceries, gas for the car, and occasionally a nice dinner and/or movie date, why am I at my most apprehensive to move forward? Especially despite all of my wanting to and desire to do so.
It's not just those words yes and no. I've been thinking about this for a few days. It's because I've never really dated anyone before -- or, as Suri would call it, I have no experience in the art of courting. My first real girlfriend, when I was an undergrad at WVU, was in a relationship with me for about six weeks. I've never talked about her here on the blog for fairly obvious reasons, but she was three years older than me, a great deal more experienced in life, and we never actually dated. We met, immediately felt some sort of connection, and dealt with it the only way two college students of that age know how, ahem, without going into details, before the relationship dissolved over the course of that summer. There were no actual "dates," there was no actual "courting."
Of course, with the former girlfriend, most of you know the story already -- we met online in 2005, I moved out here in 2006, and we were together until earlier this summer. While we would later have many dinner-and-movie dates, it was after I'd moved out here and long after we'd established ourselves as an exclusive couple; any "courting" of any sort was done online, over the first few weeks we were talking but not yet a couple. She is also almost five years younger than I am.
This new girl I've been talking to is, really, not a girl at all but a woman. She's two years older than I am. She's lived in various areas of the country (as well as around the world) and more than likely has much, much more life experience than I do, judging solely by the conversations we've had. She's mature in all the ways I still may not be or ever be, though she does have a biting sense of dry humor that I greatly adore and appreciate. I'm also skirting a fine line by even saying this much, as I know she's read this blog before -- at least one or two posts, anyway -- though I'm not sure she's a regular reader. I sadly haven't had the opportunity to talk to her enough since then to know otherwise, therefore if she is reading this, it may be either a very good or very bad thing.
Regardless, I'm skewing away from the point, and the point is that she is the type of woman that I would like to court. She's the type that, in my eyes, needs and deserves to be courted, dated, and the type that I'd like to get to know better with no expectations. That last part, to me at least, is important. With no expectations, I should be experiencing no fear, and should have no real fears of rejection or eventual letdown. So why do I?
Those of you who have read recent posts here may be thinking that this sort of rationale violates my code of "don't actively pursue anything, but pay close attention to anything that comes my way" or whatever it was I wrote before, and you're probably right with that assumption, but here's the thing -- I don't read signals well. I can't tell when or if someone is cautiously interested in me, or would be receptive to interest from me. As I told Suri, I've been out of the game far too long, and getting back into it now is all new and confusing. I'm also one of those guys who don't tend to pick up on a lot of subtleties, and occasionally need to be bashed over the head with the proverbial "obvious stick."
"Look," Suri said. "It's clear that she wouldn't be talking with you or making time to hang out with you if she wasn't at least interested a little bit."
"Is it?" I replied. "I really don't know. I can't read minds, I'm not psychic. I don't know what you women are thinking about anything."
As you know, this is the problem that has plagued all males since the beginning of time.
"Besides," I added, "I just don't know enough information about the big picture. I've definitely been known to misinterpret things over the years. This could be one of those 'you're nice, so I'm going to be nice and friendly in return' sort of situations that I'm grossly, totally misinterpreting. I have no clue."
Rose-colored glasses and all that, seeing things the way I want to see them, or seeing things that aren't there. Not only is that certainly possible, but due to my scathing inner cynicism, I wonder if it's not more probable than possible.
And that, I think, is what's holding me back the most. Yes, I'm over-analyzing things. Yes, I've been stressed out and tired, and my mind may not be necessarily firing on all cylinders, which could certainly contribute to some sort of long, drawn-out misunderstanding. When I'm fatigued, my outer optimism gets replaced by my inner cynicism, and I find myself second-guessing everything.
"Whichever way you roll," Suri told me, "It'll work out, I'm sure."
Of course, this long, detailed post about my haircut and hemming and hawwing over something as trivial as asking someone out for a simple date would not be complete if I did not tell you that I finally relented, and actually did so. The two of us have been talking back and forth via private message on Facebook for the past week and a half or so (as well as in person when we're both free for a few hours of the day), so this afternoon -- shortly before finishing this post, I took the initiative and asked her if she wanted to get out of the house and do something this weekend. Fortune favors the bold, etc.
Yes, those were my exact words, though at the end I added "You and me?" at the end of it so that she wouldn't think it was a group activity or something.
So, as in all cases, we'll see what happens. I am cautiously optimistic for the time being.
1 comment:
You look good.
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