My Hair.

Has seen a wealth of action this year.

I've worn five wigs, had it shorn and now shagged. I had Christmas Carol chops. A partial goatee. Baby soft to scratchy patchy. And let's not even start on the body hair. From a whales belly to a the mangy mutt I am, I've been through it all.

Who knew so much of your identity could be contained in tiny strands of dead cells. Of course, I suppose it there to protect you, really, warmth and safety and security and all that. And isn't that the point of indentity as well. "Yeah, I know who I am and what I want and how I will act in every situation and so now I can stop worrying about who i will become or what I might have been or how I might change, cuz I already know and blah blah blah...."

I'm hereby encouraging everyone to make a drastic change to some part of your follicular being and exacerbate the need to indentify with anything. Especially the idea of being right. Like I seem to think I am. About Hair.

Which by the way I thoroughly enjoyed being a part of. Here's my blessing to all the beautiful men and women I had the pleasure of spending the last three months in close sweaty contact with. Act, dance, sing the song, song the sing...song song song sing sing sing sing sing song.

You're all gorgeous.

R