BLOG: This Could Be An Essay I Get Paid For

Friday. Hair day. My first Devacut. Yes, I am super emotional about it already, even though it’s still three hours away.

Last night I had a full-on breakdown over it. Okay, it wasn’t just the hair that caused the crying; it was everything. Still, thinking about having my hair cut in its natural state is a surprisingly intense experience. I haven’t been happy with a single haircut I’ve had in the whole 11 years I’ve lived in SD. The idea of walking out of the salon without sopping wet hair or a heavily flat-ironed style that doesn’t look quite right is a magical thought. I didn’t realize that the belief that my natural hair isn’t beautiful was so deeply engrained in me. I guess I always just considered myself to be “experimenting.” The emotions I’m experiencing right now suggest otherwise.

I just had a completely random memory jog from seventh grade about the racism I witnessed amongst my friends and family when I started wrapping my hair, listening to hip hop, and hanging out with POC. It all started with this blonde white girl yelling at me for wearing a “do-rag” at her slumber party. I wish I could go back and lecture her now for being so wrong about everything.

First of all, it’s not a “do-rag.” Calling it that would be cultural appropriation. I prefer the neutral term “hair wrap.” After all, this is a silk scarf with a lovely turquoise damask pattern on it. Second, it’s a necessary protective measure to maintain the shape of my curls overnight. Any Curly Girl will tell you that. And yes, some of us are white. Sorry we don’t all have long, straight, blonde hair.

Anyway, who knew I had so many feelings about my hair?! Believe it or not, I actually feel better about myself now that I’m starting to learn my proper hair care routine. It’s a pain, but it’s worth it. I still don’t know what color it’s going to be. It will be a surprise ending!

I should tell the rest of the story about that year of school. It was really interesting. The more I look back on it, the more stunned I am that so many concerned white people were interfering in my social life. All they ever did was tell me I had to have a social life. Then I finally had one and they got pissed off because I wasn’t hanging out with white people! Ugh! Karens. What are you going to do with them?

That whole episode was crazy. My life has been crazy. The older I get, the more I realized that adults often project their crazy onto their children. I’ve been told for years and years and years that I will never be able to take care of myself or live a normal life or do anything I want to do. I still got a degree, worked, traveled, and wrote a bunch of crap that doesn’t matter. I can’t wait to get away from the crazy so I can live my life as my best self. It’s about time.

I’m still really emotional about this. I’m emotional about everything right now. Last night all I wanted was someone to hang out with during the live music. Instead, I get a long, rambly Snapchat therapy session I barely even read. It was a lot more lecturing me about all the ways I’m wrong. I was just like, “Dude, you know what? Shut up. I just want to have a chill girls night with wine and tapas and live music. You’re ruining the vibe.”

The lack of chill ladies around to discuss Netflix with was so lame. It’s like this every week. it’s just like… time to give up. I miss my college days when my friends and I would sit on the patio of Bloody Mary’s and talk about art and philosophy and love. Such fond memories. Sigh. Too bad some of them turned out to be such miserable fucking assholes. I hope that someday I can walk in there again and enjoy the nostalgia vibe. Hopefully The Snake won’t be there to ruin it for me with another one of his little temper tantrums.

You know what? I really did get duped. I used to hear the stories about it and think, “I wish I could have a really cool, famous story set at this bar.” And this is what I got. LOL! Oh, it’s a famous story alright. Just not the one I wanted, or even one that’s anywhere close to the truth. And on top of all of that bullshit, I got stuck with Andrew, the worst creation I have ever made. Be careful what you wish for, people. You just might get it in the form of a sexy novel you accidentally wrote on the side while trying to write something else. Ha ha ha, please get me out of here.

How do I feel about the novel I accidentally wrote about Andrew? Used. Manipulated. Toyed with. Deceived. That man was playing with me. He was messing with me in real life. That’s what he does to people. He messes with them for fun. He messed with me and I wrote a novel about it and now I’m stuck with it forever. Not only that, but I am being punished for writing the novel this character pushed me to write even though I didn’t want to. What the fuck! How is this fair! He’s such a terrible person. My original character assessment was indeed correct: he is a liar, a ladiesman, and a snake. He thought it would funny to mess with the writer and get her to write stories about him. Well, he got what he wanted. Here’s your fucking novel, you ungrateful piece of shit. Thanks for ruining my fucking life!

I’m stupid. I am a stupid person. I fell for it because I am stupid. I wasted my time on NOTHING! I should’ve known better. But I didn’t! I wrote this novel! I didn’t feel like I had a choice. I feel like I was just taken over and that the spirit moved me to write it. I feel like Andrew created himself for his own entertainment. Now he’s trying to disown it like it’s not his. It’s just… HOW THE HELL DID I END UP IN THIS RIDICULOUS SITUATION?!

Yes, I’ll say it. I am a victim of The Whoremonger. That guy on Facebook is right. I am the poor, innocent woman who was driven crazy by that asshole! Excuse me while I go get drunk and cry about it in public some more!

Time to go now. I have to get ready for my hair appointment. I’m nervous, but excited. Definitely ready to get my hair done after 5 months of plague quarantine. Just not quite sure what to expect.

Farewell.

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