After years of having a beard, I had one of those spur-of-the-moment moments yesterday and cut the darn thing off. The kids laughed and called me, "weird." Jen says I look like a 12 year old. Still, the novelty value of feeling the wind on my chin makes it worth it for the time being. At the moment, I feel energized. I'm sure that in a couple of days I'll think I look like a dork and let it grow back.
One of these days I might even get the courage to get a haircut. My self image has always involved me having long hair for some reason - some sort of left over from childhood when I decided that long hair looked cool. Yeah, it also stems from an obsession with heavy metal and a frustration with, well... I'm not sure what it was a frustration with at the time. Perhaps with the popular kids and their little cliques. Now I have more adult frustrations, but they do run along similar lines.
The bright side of getting a haircut would be that I would never again have to think up a reply to, "how long did it take to grow your hair?" It's a hard question to answer because I can't even remember what year it was the last time I got it trimmed, let alone cut. I think it was sometime in the late eighties.
I'm too much a creature of habit. Sometimes that's a good thing. Sometimes it's not. Grant me the wisdom to know the difference.
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