Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

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Italics has been growing his hair out for some years now, and while he occasionally gets it trimmed (a biannual event in this house - Spring/Easter, Fall/Halloween), he's never properly cut off any significant length. He missed his Halloween appointment and by Midwinter a clear divide between healthy and damaged appeared.

Without considering the consequences I was given full blessings to brandish my ritual scissors and cut off the weak and split-ended hair. (I'M ALREADY PUTTING MENSTRUAL CLOTS IN HIS FOOD, URINE IN HIS BATH AND PUBIC HAIR IN HIS BUFFALO WINGS HOT SAUCE, WTF DOES IT MATTER IF I'M CUTTING AND KEEPING HIS HAIR, RIGHT? THAT SHIT'S //CHUMP CHANGE// IN THIS RELATIONSHIP.)

At the time I didn't know what I was going to do with it, but I knew I wanted to create something - a braided love charm, or something at least knotted or plaited - so I banded the thick length of hair together with a rubber band and placed the wet, curling lock at the base of Wadjet's statue so it could dry and I could take some pictures the following day.

The problem with "consecrating" anything on an altar - at least for me - is that if you leave it too long you forget about it. Because, at some point, the individuality of the item disappears and when that happens it allows the object to seamlessly merge with its setting. After two weeks I stopped seeing "project that needs to get worked on" and simply saw "office window's altar" and as if by MAGIC the bundled lock of hair became invisible and I simply forgot about it.

...forgot about it until Italics picked up a mangy, tatted clump of hair from beneath his computer desk on one despair filled Christmas vacation morning. I was already crying about something - JUST PICK ONE REASON OUT OF A HUNDRED (EXCEPT FOR "GREY HAIRS" BECAUSE, JUST BETWEEN YOU AND ME, I THINK THE SILVERY STREAKS IN MY OTHERWISE BABY FINE WAIST LENGTH HAIR IS KIND'VE SORT'VE SEXY - SHHH!) - and when Italics held up an aborted felted sculpture that could've been featured on Regretsy and asked "WHAT'S THIS?" and I saw that his hair was missing from the altar I had no other choice but to file the tragedy under "WHATEVER, FUCK IT" (because I had already cried enough that fucking day, thank you very much).

(A FILE THAT'S GAINED A FEW POUNDS DURING THIS PAST YULETIDE SEASON, BY THE WAY. WHATEVER, FUCK IT, AT LEAST I'M NOT SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS AND PUNCHING HOLES THROUGH WALLS (WHICH I WAS DOING SEVERAL YEARS BACK). I REALLY SHOULD BE CELEBRATING MY GRADUATION INTO ADULTHOOD, BUT I THINK THE SHOTS OF HOMEMADE VODKA I'M DOING THAT PREFACES MY RESOLUTION OF "WHATEVER, FUCK IT" IS PROBABLY CELEBRATION ENOUGH.)

I must've unknowingly brushed the rubberbanded lock of hair off the altar when I was feeding the birds (I put Rice Krispies on the office's outside window ledge) and one of the rats found it, dragged it halfway across the room and commenced playing with for God knows how long before Italics made the fateful discovery. (WHATEVER, FUCK IT.) (AT THE SAME TIME, THOUGH, WTF, UNIVERSE? I WAS DOING SOMETHING NICE AND THIS IS HOW MY ASS GETS REPAID? SERIOUSLY, WTF?)

So much for braided love trinkets, right?

(The only "picture" I got of the ponytail in its full glory is in THIS VIDEO posted within the entry SIX MONTHS. What have I learned about this experience? NOT TO BE NICE. EVER. <- LESSON LEARNED!)