So I’ll be your clown, behind the glass, go ‘head and laugh, cause it’s funny, I would too, if I saw me,
I’ll be your clown, on your favorite channel, my life’s a circus-circus, round in circles, I’m selling out tonight
~ Clown, Emeli Sande
The title speaks for itself, and the quote brings it all home. And it’s true! My hair absolutely fell out and my life IS a circus-circus! No specific reason…but then that’s not completely true, there was a reason, but I choose not to share that with you guys—don’t worry, it wasn’t anything too bad. I thought perhaps that God had smote me. My boyfriend of ten years and I split because…let’s just face it, I should’ve left his ass ten-months into the relationship, but I stuck it out, thinking that somehow, some way, all the alcohol in the world would miraculously disappear and he would no longer be the drunk that I knew he was. Don’t pooh-pooh me; I’ve lived inside of my imagination for a while, thus the need for this post. I digress (quite frequently). Though, I’m quite sure that I hadn’t been singled out by God to be smote, I did feel however, that I’d been singled out to begin again. Not by God, but by my grandiose sense of self-preservation. When the going gets tough in my life, I get going. I left him, my hair left me. The going was tough for us both I guess.
No, that’s not quite how it happened, but in my mind and for the sake of sensationalism let’s just say it happened pretty damn close to that. I thought when I saw my once head of pretty curls, thick luxurious locks bid me adieu that I would lose it, but I didn’t, I bought a wig, covered it up and moved on with my life. It was, however, such an eye opening experience. Not, because of the hair falling out, but because of the sheer metaphor that life had giving me. No way, there was no smiting, I was dispensed a gift of literary gold, perhaps one day it will be well apart of my Magnum Opus…we’ll see. The gold/metaphor came because it was in those moments of baldness that I realized, this was a perfect depiction of who I was and fortunately/unfortunately, who I am.
The Uncaught Recidivist.
In the world, people were fooled, they thought that I was a happy go-lucky, longhaired, newly thirty-year-old with her future and the world at her feet. When I got home, I was a bald, single, thirty-year-old with a future/world that she had yet to have figured out. The latter being the truth…maybe? I have been too many times the one that “they” want to be, but I’ve been to me, the one that I’ve never wanted to be. Now, please don’t mistake this for self-pity or varied self-esteem. I’m pretty happy with myself, and I’m pretty pleased with what I see, though, I really do need to lose weight—shut up already, I’m doing it—however, in my span of thirty-one years, I’ve managed to create a world and person that I’m not, hence forth the “Uncaught” business of the blog, and I hadn’t realized until that very moment of missing hair, that that’s what was going on in my world.
In my life.
I had, in essence, been living a wig (a lie for those of you who lack wit). My life wasn’t a complete wig, but it wasn’t all my natural hair that’s for damned sure, and now, I’m in the process of trying to figure out, which one of those women I want to be. The bald woman or the wig wearer? Which would you choose? And think deeply, I’d be curious to know why you chose your answer. Until next time…
~Res Ipsa Loquitur, Caperent me, si potes,