I’ve got to have a haircut. Now.
I mean NOW. Don’t mind me doing some calculations and compiling them neatly into pdfs. Just give me a haircut because I’m getting desperate by the moment.
I prided myself of my temple’s adornment. It’s not the entirety of a person but the truth will never be denied: THE HAIR MAKES THE MAN.
That was when it was still manageable with just the right length. One thing I hate though about my hair is that it gets unruly as it curls with increased length like gourd tendrils going this and that way like it has brains of its own.
When my hair was still in a cooperative mood, I felt like a Hollywood actor – hot, and lusted upon by blondes and brunette girls of all ages. Now that it got bulkier, wavier, and all curlier, my self-esteem nose-dived at an alarming rate. I can easily form a devil’s horn off my hair without the aid of wax or gel. And those thoughts got me depressed.
Long before my evolvement from a 21st century human being to a stone age caveman, my boss asked me why I have grown a world’s supply of toupee, including the mustache, goatee, and eyeglasses. I just smiled. Ok, no big deal. But I got my second thoughts when he asked me the second time when will I have a haircut. I told him, that I will when I can no longer stand it and how I feel smarter than what I really am because of the extra baggage. I also told him that my wife approves it and that she thinks it makes me look more mature and dependable. He smiled and said something about my hair likened to that of professors. I thought I heard him say nutty professor’s hair and that I look like an asshole now. And his silent words of warning: “YOU BETTER GET A HAIRCUT IF YOU KNOW BETTER!”
I freaked out. I don’t want losing my job because of my wanting to be just me. I’m within a group of professionals, so, I should be professionally presentable. I just realized I am not in the freakin’ rock and roll industry (although I wish I were sometimes) where tattoos and long hair are never considered taboo, rather norms of self-expression.
It was never my dream of becoming a hermit nor looking like one. I just wanted to be cool and be who I am just as how Albert Einstein (and a whole lot of people) glorified his identity. Ok, except that I don’t have the same degree of eccentricity and genius as he once had. But at least I’m eccentric. I know I’m in good company.
It’s mid-summer. My hair’s blocking the sun and the required ventilation as well to keep my temple cool. Time to set things in equilibrium, to set things in balance. A time for something to die in order for something else to be reborn in order to start anew.
Skinhead?! Forget it!