Insanity to an experiment

Yesterday was supposed to be a good day. Hubs wasn’t working, he told me he’d take care of MM all day long, we splurged and bought meat to cook on our last charcoal briquettes, we were just going to relax and hang out.

The problem was, is that the night before was a shitfest. I got so overwhelmed by the stress of all that’s going on, combined with the baby not going to sleep no matter whaaaaat, that Hubs had to come home early from that bastard Second Job, take the boy and go. I drove away and sat in a parking lot sobbing for hours. In the meantime, I had sent a harmless text message to my sister asking if there was any reason family get together’s tend to get planned after MM goes to bed. She responded with an explosion of anger that I just don’t even know how to deal with. I tried to stay calm, kind, apologetic, while still saying, “Actually, easter, thanksgiving, christmas, and now fathers day have all been like this.” It’s such a big fucking inconvenience to her to have to get together early. BLAH. Long story short, as I’m going on my third hour of hyperventillatey sobbing, she pretty much gives me the gyst that she’s sick of listening to my crap and “I try to support and care about you but you are making it so hard.” WTF? I asked what I was doing to make it so hard, what I could do differently, what she wanted from me, and if she’d like me to just lay low and stay away until my life gets back on track. She refused to answer any of the questions, going back to the fucking first text message that was NOTHING, and saying that I blame her for everything and use her as a punching bag. All this, while I am going through the shittiest time of my life, and we are struggling so hard. She just doesn’t want to hear about it, doesn’t want to feel bad about complaining about the installer of her custom ordered carpeting. So, though she wouldn’t say the words, she pretty much wants me to fuck off. She was my only friend.

When I got home I told Hubs that I can no longer handle the stress and responsibility of the finances. He needs to take care of it all, it’s on him. I need to take care of me, and MM, and the house. Still though, we came up with a list of things that we should sell so that we can continue to splurge once a month and get ground beef. The list was long, and included many things that break my heart to sell.

Anyway, so yesterday I woke up feeling all grievey and sad and spent a lot of time in bed. Since Hubs isn’t around as much these days, he hasn’t kept up with the quick changing moods and signals from MM so there was much whining and screaming and general fussiness all day. Hubs decided to put him down to bed waaaay too early and I got pissed because BLAR I’m the one that’s here all the time and I know what he wants and he doesn’t want to go to bed, and I went in to hold the screamy screamerson for a while and he just looooooooooooves to pull my hair. I say “NO” in a serious and commanding voice, and he thinks that’s funny, which makes me so fucking irate. I hold his hands down on his chest, he gets pissed. I put my hair up in a ponytail and he grabs the onesie twosie hairs around the edges that fucking hurt, or just yoinks out a big clump. I walked out of the room while he was still crying and just started screaming at Hubs about how I’m the one who knows what the baby wants and he just can’t waltz in here and make the baby do whatever because it suits HIM. BLAH LAME ANGER FLaaaaames on the side of my face. After the second holdey screamy session of hair pulling, I put him down and walked out, and went insane.

I walked into the bedroom and locked the door. I got out the clippers. I cut all my motherfucking hair off. Then I cried and cried and cried and cried and cried. Hubs had to clean it up, because seeing the pile of hair there, all those years of growing it out gone in 5 minutes, I just… whaaaaaaa. I also did not realize how short even the longest attachment for the clippers are, but it was too fucking late. So, I look like a boy. Actually, I look like a butch dyke, all I need to do is be 230 pounds and wear formless t-shirts and baggy jeans…oh wait. Not that dykes aren’t pretty and all, it’s just that I was past that part of my life. I was going to have loooooong hair that I did in lots of fun styles. I know, it grows back. But, fuck. So I went from this:

to this:

Keep your daughters in, tonight, I’m on the prooooowl.

So, as I grow out my hair I tend to keep cutting it in a pointless attempt to make the ugly phases not so ugly. This delays the longness exponentially, but every single damn time I do it, I justify it to myself with shit like, “Cutting your hair makes it grow faster!” even though, you know, cutting your hair cuts off hair.

SO, my little bout of Marshall-on-his-wedding-day has prompted me to start an experiment. I am not going to cut my hair for an entire year. July 4th, 2011. I was thinking I’d take a picture of it each month so that we can all see together what hair that is all one length looks like as it grows out, and what techniques I use to hide the inevitable mullet phase. Does that sound fun?