I feel like I have a lot of random thoughts in my head none of which are the productive sort of contemplation that could be useful in everyday life. I switch so frequently from one thought to another hopping from one train to another, to another, to another until I managed to travel completely away from my original destination. It’s like if my head was on google maps it would be screaming redirect! redirect goddamit! Well, google maps sorry but I’m going to stick to zigzagging around this map allow these flickering images take hold. I will call this route ‘Revelations’.

My latest reflection is a friend I have known since birth, a friend who wraps me in their protective blanket, keeps me warm, confident in myself and grows when watered (What don’t you have a friend that needs a little h2o?), this friend has changed and I am not sure how I feel about it…  Ok so I am not actually talking about a sentient being or a person but It has had a mind of its own on more than one occasion. Like what hell one day you just twist happily up into a perfect bun and the next you look like a hot mess! just why! but I still love you, please never leave me.

Hair has been with me from before I was released from my mother’s womb up until this present day where it is contained messily on my head by a plastic band.

I never registered with me how much attention I give my hair over any other part of your body until I did. Like when do you ever have a long drawn out thought about the back of your neck unless it’s being a pain. It has expressed every emotion I possess and has made me question its motives so many times. Why do you look like that, why isn’t it thicker why is it so thick, why is it there, why has it grown there! So many whys!

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As a child, I never gave any thought to the hair on my body until puberty hit and it was fucking everywhere! First came the leg hair, two knee-high fluffy black stockings covering my skin. I say stockings but I didn’t feel any warmer than when my legs were bald. Then came the pits, from inside the craters lurks acromantula, a hairy beast that stretches its legs out in scurrying in every direction. Then if we travel down past the belly button you reach the secret garden, a bush to cover the goods.

The conflict between me and this invader began and the battle plan was simple. It all had to go. The first attack was with a mens disposable razor. I was a young pubescent with no money so my father’s new razers were now mine. Big mistake! my outer labia was red raw with tiny cuts dotted around and the regrowth turned my vagina into a hedgehog.  Eventually, I learned to tame the bush but in those early days, it was the first time I really looked at my body and felt angry at it. That feeling was repeated with my eyebrows, I overplucked creating two snakes sliddering over my eyelids and the many bad haircuts that made me think (at the time) gorgeous but really made me resemble an old English sheepdog.

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Now it is the spy who is broadcasting my age to the world and its choice of weapon is colour. I found one, then two, then three white hairs hiding in the jungle that is my hair. How could you be so cruel! I know grey hair is the gift we all receive when we age but it just added to the fluid of emotions I am currently already dealing with.

I am getting older and right now I don’t really mind, but the older I get more I look at my life and question everything, investigate everything. My hair is now under my eyes of scrutiny, along with any decision I have made up until this point in time. I am not scared of getting grey hair, I am scared that life will past me by and I won’t have lived at all. Do you ever feel that way too?

Back to my hair! My relationship with my hair has developed over the 29 years (Oh damn the dread is back) I have dragged my feet along this earth.There was a time in my life when my body was trimmed and pruned to perfection and I still keep it tidy but now I am just less inclined to care if my leg hair grows a little longer or my eyebrows become one from lack of attention. My hair is a paintbrush sweeping across time and as it brushes across the page its colour fades and the bristles begin to harden. But I guess I can live with that.


Ramble over 🙂


Jess x

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April 1, 2018

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