Thirteen

"What my hair says about me"

I suspect that a certain pre-occupation with my hair is in my genes, being female and all that. Although, I know some males (especially teens and 'tweens') who are as bad, if not worse than females regarding their hair and how it should look.

So, notwithstanding the above gender generalisation, tonight I've decided to write about my hair, not necessarily in a fashion sense, but more with regard to how (if you really care to take notice) you can tell how my life in general is, simply by the style and state of my hair.

When my hair is long and flowing, without any single hair out of place, this means that my life is in order. I have had both the time and inclination to spend hours washing, drying and straightening my hair. My house is undoubtedly tidy, William must be behaving himself, I most certainly have some money left in the bank and am carefree enough that I have the self confidence and enthusiasm to stand in front of the bathroom mirror, flicking, grabbing, preening and pruning. Not a care in the world, and my hair says it all, because it is perfect.

When I have my hair in a ponytail, this means that I am 'mostly' in control of life. I've had time to dry, but not necessarily the time to straighten and preen. Most likely my house is starting to look untidy and I have tried to run around in the morning just picking things up here and there so that I can at least walk into a 'mostly' tidy house when I get home from work. Possibly there will be some washing in the basket from last night's drying efforts, that I just couldn't be bothered folding....and will have left until tonight. Already, I am setting myself up for 'phase three'.

Plaits indicate that I've had enough time in the morning to wash my hair, but not enough time to dry or preen. Get it clean and get it packed away. A fly on the wall would probably see me harassing William to get ready for school as I wipe the breakfast crumbs off the bench and throw the dishes into the sink to be worked on after dinner at night. William is likely to head off to school without a jacket (in the cold weather) and without a hat (in the sunny weather), as I have barely managed to wash and pack my hair away, let alone remember the extra pieces of clothing required by my child for the school day. He does, however, still have a packed lunch and a drink, and a full set of basic clothing on his back. His bed, while not being fully made, has at the very least been 'pulled up'. I am in full uniform, ready for work.

And then there is the single bun. This is my 'hair dichotomy'. The bun indicates that it's been at least three days since I even thought about washing my hair, and my life is fairly much out of control. Beds are not made, crumbs on the kitchen bench have turned into SCRAPS on the kitchen bench, the dishes are now stacked up in the sink waiting for 'tonight' (which usually becomes 'tomorrow night'), the undies stockpile is getting quite low, and it's looking like Maccas for dinner due in no small part to the fact that it is getting towards the end of the week and I am starting to feel totally knackered out. The reason for the single bun being the 'hair dichotomy' is because to outsiders (which you will no longer be, having read this post) I actually look my most 'professional' and in control when I have the single bun. Very office-like, very official, very power-suit wearing. And yet the main reason for the single bun is that the greasy look just doesn't suit me, and the single bun hides that very well. I usually reach 'hair dichotomy' stage around about Thursday. Odd socks are not uncommon during the 'hair dichotomy' phase of my week - William has learned to survive on a stale roll and some totally unhealthy carb-and-sugar-loaded convenience snacks at school. Oh yes, you see the single bun, and you know that inside I'm having a minor breakdown.

Finally I have the 'double bun' phase. A dichotomy this ain't. When I finally get to the stage where you could cook a meal of fish and chips with the oil that is running through my follicles because I just haven't had the time or energy to go through the whole process (who needs clean hair at the expense of an extra half hour's sleep in the morning?!?!?!?!), I revert to the Princess Leia double bun - one small bun at either side of my noggin. And I have to say that the sight of a 40 year old woman wearing two little buns on her head has produced a certain response from my female colleagues - "Oh! Look at your two little hair buns!!". I can't tell whether they are suggesting that it looks ridiculous, or whether they actually like it, and quite frankly, I don't care. At least, with the help of the double buns, they're not saying "Geez Janeaney, you've got the oil thing going on pretty bad there Love", because you can't actually tell how disgusting my hair is when the double bun thing is happening. As long as I'm not explicitly aware that they're laughing at the way I look, I do not care. And this attitude carries on through the rest of my life whenever I'm donning the double bun - don't care if the beds are not made, don't care if the dishes are not done, don't care if the washing's not folded, don't care if Will has to turn his jocks inside out to get another day from them, don't care if the floors are not vac'd, just don't care. Too tired and washed out and craving that beautiful glass of Sauvignon Blanc that awaits me when I return home from work in the evening, put on my slippers, plonk in the lounge chair, switch on the telly and let down my long greasy locks.....

Talk tomorrow

Janeane
xx