I know I don’t, not unless someone pokes me and says hey, go read this blog it’s funny, or it has a great recipe, or it had some good information. I’ll go and read it, either agree or disagree that the information/recipe/funny story was good…then go on my merry way and very likely not go back to that blog page on a regular basis. There are just too many blogs out there. Bazillions of them. You could roam for hours, days, weeks and never keep up with them all. People would have to bring food and water in. There would be no sleep. It would produce a world of blog zombies.
So I figure maybe ten people read my pithy words on a semi-regular basis, and that’s fine. I usually just ramble here in order to avoid having lengthy, profound conversations with the dogs. Scamp listens attentively, bless her, but Suzie…well…she gets fed up when I start ranting about the price of stamps and goes off to chew a slipper.
The big debate I’ve been having with them lately is whether to cut my hair off or not. I’ve had long hair since I was a teenager. It was a lot longer when I first started attending conferences because of course, one had to have long, flowing, blonde hair to look like a romance author back in the 80’s. I used to frost it too…started that when I was in high school because my hair was a mousy brown. Then one day, in my mid 40’s, I went to get the frosting touched up…and realized I didn’t need to do it anymore. My father, who had gone silvery-gray in his early 50’s, had passed the hair gene on to me and voila, no more need to frost to get that multi-colored effect.
Lately, however, I’ve begun to notice my mother’s hair gene kicking in. I used to remember her whining about her hair getting so thin and fine there was hardly anything there. Well. I’ve gone from having so much hair it took an hour to section it off and dry with a blowdryer…to having so little it takes 10 min if I stretch it. Seriously. I have half the amount of hair on my head as I did even ten years ago, thank you very much Mother Gene. So the debate now is whether to whack it off and forsake the shoulder-length silver, which looks great (false modesty be damned) when it’s been freshly blown dry and styled…but sucks after a night of pillow-crushing bedhead. As a friend said, it will grow back if I decide I don’t like it. But it’s still a major step.
I recall getting pissed off with it once before, back when I was living on my own, not yet married, and throwing things at the alarm when it went off at 5am for work. I glared at it one day in the mirror, picked up the scissors, and took it down to an inch. An inch! People walked by me at work and didn’t recognize me. I didn’t recognize me.
*sigh* decisions, decisions.