So, I did a Thing

I did a thing yesterday, and at the time I started this post it was just after 10pm and I was wound up as hell.

I first woke at 530am and attended to some business, and wrote out an article, which I thought was pretty fucking fantastic if I do say so myself. I’m hoping for my first five star rating from it. The cool thing about this article writing bit is that I’m learning stuff about things I either had minimal knowlege about, or didn’t know anything about. It’s pretty cool.

I had requested to work only half a day so I could do this thing that I did, and after working until 2pm, I came home and wrote yet another article. Fire from the Gods is still carrying me through my days. “Are you listening? If I’m gonna play the game of life I’m gonna win! Let’s take it up to another level. . .” I feel like that’s exactly where I’m at right now. I’m done just playing around. I’m taking everything to the next level.

Anyway.

Then it was time to do the thing.

Last week on a whim I decided I wanted my hair professionally done. First off, I’ve only had it dyed professionally a couple of times, about ten years ago. Between the ages of 22 and 25 or so, I dyed my hair stricty black. Layer upon layer, for three years or so. I wanted to lighten it, and tried, only to completely fuck it up. So I went to a professional to gradually have it lightened. She added a couple different color highlights to do this and it looked great. . . except that maintaining it was horrible. I’m not a patient person. I hate sitting in a chair for either my hair or nails for very long, which is why I opt for box dye and doing my own nails most of the time. So I stopped going strictly because I felt I had better things to do and better things to spend my money on than sitting in a chair while someone dyed my hair.

But last week I looked in the mirror and noticed that the dye I had recently put in was already washing out, my ends were shot because I hadn’t even been to get it trimmed since before the shut down in March, and I was overall displeased with my hair’s appearance. I got this idea in the middle of the day at work, and as I was already in the midst of a text conversation with Emma, asked her to recommend someone to me.

She did so, and all of a sudden I had a hair appointment set for July 15th at 4pm.

Welp. Guess this is what I’m doing now, I thought to myself.

I was excited to treat myself to this luxury, but dreading the whole sitting in the chair part. I had agreed to balayage color, which is darker on top and gradually lightens to the ends. It would go from black to burgundy was the plan. I’ve never had anything so complicated done to my hair, and due to my current color circumstances and the state of my hair as a whole, I knew it would be a process.

I had figured right around two hours from start to finish.

I took half of my personal day, leaving at 2pm. Like I said, I came home and wrote an article, and then drove to the salon.

So, first thing was first, lightening the ends so that she could do the balayage. The process of putting it on took about an hour, and I began to feel a little worried. I had banked on two hours, and she still had to let the lightener process, put the dye on, and cut and style it. Oh boy.

The first round of lightener didn’t work, much to my horror. Not suprising, but I still was not enthused about having to wait longer. My hair had mulitple layers of dye on it, and was damaged to boot. Of course it didn’t take.

So, we got through that ordeal. Finally satisfied with how light it was, she then proceeded to put the dye on, and the toner.

Guess what didn’t take? The toner. So we had to put another round of that on.

Guys, I sat in that chair for four whole fucking hours. I only stood to walk from the salon chair to another chair in the back where my hair was rinsed and dyed and toned and rinsed and toned again. And then back. When I say that my ass and legs hurt from sitting so long, that’s not a joke. I sit at a desk at work the majority of the day, I sit here at my desk at home to write, but I’m constantly moving, getting up to get something, getting up to go outside and smoke a cigarette, something. I don’t ever sit mostly still for four hours.

I am not saying anything bad about the salon or my stylist. She worked miracles, and the salon was comfortable and quiet and very nice. She just had a mess on her hands with my hair was all. I’ve always joked that my hair needed deliverance. She provided it. It just took a very, very long time.

So by the time she was satisfied with the color results, we were three hours in and I knew I had to still go through the ordeal of her cutting it and drying it and styling it. I knew I had another hour left at least. She had me move from the back of the salon back to the front. I was relieved just to stand, but felt like a baby calf walking back to my chair. I took a drink of my energy drink – it was after 7pm and to hell with it, I was thirsty – and sat down, She undid the towel and it looked like my hair was just its standard black. I knew it was because it was wet and didn’t say anything. And as she dried it I wasn’t seeing much of contrast. She must have sensed my unease. “When I’m finished we’ll go outside so you can see the balayage.” That made sense.

As she dried it and did fancy things with the round brush, I began to see what she had done. And then as she trimmed it up I saw more.

And then we went outside and she took pictures, and I could really see it.

And I loved it.

I gladly paid her, and purchased a couple of the products she had used during the styling. I requested she send the photos to me since it would be hard to take pictures of the back of my head myself. I had been texting Sophia and Emma and Oliver through out the process, and had planned on going out to see Sophia so she could see it in person. Once at her house I sent the photos to Emma and Oliver. Everyone made a huge deal out of the transformation in my hair. I thought it rather subtle, but still noticeable.

I have steered clear from salons of any sort other than once or twice a year when I go to get a pedicure with Sophia, and haircuts. I’ve sworn off fake nails, professionally done hair. . . because I always feel like there are more important things to do, more important things to spend my money on. . .

But for fucks sake.

First off, I felt absoultely gorgeous afterwards. Before anyone had seen it, before any one complimented me. I looked at my hair and ran my hands through it and was like. . . so, this is what it means to do something for yourself. To spend more than a little money on yourself. To take four hours for yourself.

Secondly, I’ve been busting my ass this last month. I’ve made so much progress in my life, and I fucking deserve this. I deserve the time spent on myself, I deserve the money spent on myself.

And I’ll do it again. I will find the time to devote to me. Its not selfish, it’s not really even out of vanity. It’s about taking the time to take care of myself. Now that I know what to expect, I’ll bring more than my phone. I’ll bring a book and let her do what she does and enjoy the time away from people.

So, this week I took the time to shop, I took the time to do my nails, I spent four hours on my hair. . . I got several more articles approved and have money waiting to be collected. I got Matt’s braces scheduled and took care of some business for brother. I’ve been busy as fuck this week, and it’s all good shit. It’s all progress.

I let myself sleep in today, rolling out of bed at a quarter after seven. I did my hair and make up, walked out the door and went to work to do more shit.

Imagine my surprise when just before my lunch break a delivery came. . .

And it was a bouquet of flowers. Not for a resident, but for me.

I opened the flowers and undid the ties holding everything together, dug for the card. . .

“You make the difference in every day. Love you.” it read.

I knew instantly.

Emma and Sophia, the assholes.

After confirming with them that they had indeed been the senders, I sat in awe at the thoughtfulness of it. My friends had bought me flowers because I love flowers and because they wanted to congratulate me on my achievements.

I can sit here all day and tell you that I’m proud of all that I’m doing, that all that matters is what I think of myself. . . but to have your friends recognize you, too. . . For people to praise you and celebrate with you. . .

It matters. It matters a lot.

I wouldn’t be here, doing all that I’m doing, without the words of encouragement from those people that matter most to me.

I’m going to leave this here. My eyes are starting to hurt from having had to wear my glasses so long today, and I’m dead ass exhausted. I’m sitting here in front of my obnoxious office space, completely content with this life of mine. I’m content in my continued progress, my friends, my family, my children. . . it’s all good.