Dor Does Books

I'm sure I've mentioned it before, but last year was a year of unbelievable stress for me. 

Although I felt okay and as in control as anybody could, the stress took it out on me in other ways. I lost weight (which is not a bad thing, but as a person with a history of disordered eating I try to avoid seeing the acquisition of thinness as a positive and life affirming quality) and I lost hair. Lots and lots of hair. 

So, I had to have it cut. I literally went into my hairdresser and told him to do what he needed to. He needed to take it from my shoulder blades to my jaw. 

I did feel sad, and angry. Partly because I feel that I'm never going to be able to grow it to that length again. Partly because I didn't know if my hair was going to stop falling out (it did; harrumble!). Partly because I was concerned about what was going to happen when/if it did begin to regrow. Partly because it wasn't my choice and I wasn't able to summon the enthusiasm to *make* a choice. Partly because I know short hair looks better on me than long hair due to the perennial messiness which inhabits every fibre of my being and so getting complimented had this odd mixture of "yay! I'm smexy!" and "but. this. wasn't. what. I. wanted."

Tomorrow, I'm going to the hairdresser, and I'm going to have a dramatic change. Right now my hair is a layered bob thing about an inch above my shoulders. I haven't decided *exactly* what's happening (although I have spent a few helpful minutes photoshopping other people's hair onto my head) but I'm liking some of these modern pixie cuts so many of the kids seem to have these days. I don't rule out cropping it very short (I've done it before a couple of times and swore I never would again because it's such a hassle to grow out).

It's going to be exciting and I'm feeling good about it. If it all goes horribly wrong, I have a hat.