The hair dying needs to stop. I realize I am bingeing. It is like discovering the wonders of $7.99 box dye has opened up a whole world of indecisive mania.
After 15 years of professionally dyed $200 blondness I have discovered an entirely new antidote to boredom or regimen.
People are starting to make comments. My organization’s executive director stops by almost daily to see what color it will be.
The shades have not varied that much, at least not into the realm of audacious purples or greens, but I, like my hair, have grown to loath consistency.
The only tolerable constant is change. With February a mere eye blink away, I am bracing myself for change and all that this month of landmarks will bring, ones for which I fear even Loreal box 28B can not prepare me.
My show is written. Now I just need to figure out how to get people in the seats. I have a slew of work related projects to prepare for while I am away and several arts proposals to get out if I hope to have opportunities to perform when I return.
Even more flummoxing is not knowing what the trip will hold or the affect it will have on my return.
I fear it might make Kansas City feel like my old blonde hair, attractive, safe but mundane. After 28 days of Box 30 Cinnamon bliss, will regular life ever feel the same?