i've forgotton the shape of my head.

my hair sits in a ridiculous little explosion, rebelling against the confining sting of elastic which i've forced around it. by definition, then, it must be long enough to be put into a ponytail; a very recent development, and for the first time in years. at just-barely-shoulder-length, the ponytail is almost as thick as my wrist. an embarrasingly long time yesterday was spent in front of the mirror, pulling it all back tight against my head, releasing it and feeling the curls against my face, pulling it back again.

should i shave it again?

there are alot of strangely potent associations with shaving my head.
part of it has to do with image, and the breaking thereof. part of it is a deep sense of self-defiance, because i have now the opportunity to hide behind my hair. days when i feel bland and drab and avoid mirrors, i can tilt my head forward and be safely within a curtain of voracious curls. it's a psychological crutch, and i have a strong visceral aversion to those.

there is a head-shaving mood, when i feel stagnated and angsty and need something changed, drastic, now. cutting my hair is better than other things i could cut - though usually i don't do either.
strangely, i'm not in that mood. i am, in fact, about as far from that mood as i've ever been. certainly i've never been so far from it for so long.
i'm not craving change, i don't need to shock people any more, and i quite like my hair as it is.

and yet.