Terrible Hair Forever!
I have the worst haircut on earth… and I love it!
I call it my writer hair. You might be saying to yourself ”Who would be proud of a bad haircut?” Then again, you’re probably not, since I already preemptively just answered that question - and because you don’t talk to yourself. (Only imbalanced people such as ballerinas and small-town newspaper writers actually talk to themselves.)
The reason I like my long shaggy awful haircut is that it reminds me that I have a job I love. Most jobs would require me to fix this awful mop I have on my skull and most of those jobs are careers I would despise no matter how much they paid. Sometimes I am tempted to take those jobs, but this bad hair reminds me -”You’re doing a job you love. Stick with being a writer.” (You see, not only do I talk to myself, my hair also talks to me.) It is my daily reminder that I’d rather live a modest life with a fulfilling job, than than be rich and bored for eight hours a day.
By the way, I also have two other jobs that allow me to have bad hair. I work at a talk radio station. (You see, I don’t just talk to myself, sometimes I talk to thousands of people at one time - even if they are people that can’t talk back. Do any of my forms of communication ever follow the traditional route of two people conversing? Probably not. Tell me about it. I will. I know I will. Stop talking to me! Me stop talking to me! No, ME stop talking to me! I started it. No I started it!)
Bottom line: I love my jobs and I love my hair that I hate. My awful hair is a symbol to remind me to do what I love - except for what I’d really love to do: go get that buzz cut that I miss so much. But a buzz cut leads to a real job and real job leads to misery. So I’ll just keep it like this: bad hair, good jobs, decent living.
I’ll talk to me later,
Cory