I took today off work partly because I desperately wanted to and partly to sleep. No sleeping as of yet, though I did spend some time on the couch. In an attempt to keep myself occupied with engaging activity, I thought, "Why not start a blog?" Of course, my next thought was, "Will I have anything to write about except for self-serving ramblings about my day, my stress level, my child, my pregnancy, my life?" That part is yet to be determined.
This afternoon, I'm going to get my hair cut. I'm thinking I might chop it all off. This urge comes about periodically and more frequently when I'm unhappy. Which is not to say I'm particularly unhappy right now, just more aware of my own confusion and lack of contentment. A condition that could certainly lead to some major unhappiness if I don't nip it in the bud. So cutting off the hair seems to be a step in the right direction. Fore me, It's always been a symbolic way of marking a new chapter, making a significant change in my life, or at least having strong intentions of doing so.
I cut more than a foot of shortly after the birth of my son. This was partly for practical reasons (my hair was always in the way while nursing and was way too tempting for tiny fingers that grasp and never let go) and also to further that sense of being profoundly changed by not only his birth, but also the 42 weeks leading up to it. I also cut just as much or more off when I was 20 and coming out of a major bout of depression, one that took me out of school and onto a therapist's couch one day a week for about six months. That time my mom did it for me at home in the kitchen. Now, I'm six months in to my second pregnancy and I've been thinking of cutting my hair for weeks. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that the symbolism doesn't get lost in the self-doubt.
