I went crazy and chopped all of my hair off…then I blew up Instagram and Facebook (and I think one went to Tumblr.) I don’t feel bad, at all. I’ve really tried to limit the amount of, “selfie” pics I post because no-one likes that girl. I really didn’t give two damns this weekend though. I let six inches of hair go; hair that was my shield when I needed it, that I sometimes hid behind and gave me confidence at other times. It was a big change and the fact that I felt more confident after cutting it made me brave enough to post about it.
NOTE: I felt even more inclined to post pictures of my new do because I survived a two-toned, chain-smoking Betty that was three mimosas in and working on the fourth when I sat down in her chair. I knew what was going to happen, I felt the fear creeping up…the potential for bad cut and color was there, but I took the risk. I feel as though I got very lucky…it’s not every day someone drunk-cuts your precious blonde locks and you willingly let her do so. Had the cut gone wrong, I would have chalked it up to the circle of shit (excuse the French) that’s been my life lately. Fortunately, I didn’t have to do that. I probably won’t go back to that particular salon since it was a tad risky, but it ended up being a positive experience, chain-smoking aside.
As far as selfies are concerned, I’m giving up the shame that comes with them. I know they aren’t for everyone, and those who speculate so much probably don’t post any, but I think they’re okay. I see nothing wrong with posting an image of yourself as long as it’s done in a positive way. I came across this on my favorite site to browse ( doyouyoga.com) and I couldn’t agree more:
Now, for the exciting stuff (well, in my opinion it’s exciting.)
I know I’ve been fickle on the issue, but I simply cannot change the location in my book. I was able to spend a large part of my weekend with The Anchor and it’s just not believable in my mind if I change from South Carolina to Georgia. I lose the coastline in my mind, Emerald Cove doesn’t exist and the place where Bridget makes a giant confession is lost; there’s just no way I can rid the story of South Carolina.
You see, I’m attached to the memories in the book as it is. I’ve reshaped them in a way, for back of a better term, for disguise and I just can’t imagine camouflaging them in a place I can’t visualize. I’m sure the truth behind the book will come out one day, maybe it won’t, but I can’t dream of putting this story anywhere but Beulah, South Carolina, no matter how much it may pain me to be compared to Nicholas Sparks and his beach-romance novels.
I think it’s really interesting – this whole writing process thing. I thought I’d be able to easily and happily change the story over from one location to another, no problem. It’s amazing that after a few short hours of reading and researching, my heart felt that it couldn’t be done; that the roots of the story had already been firmly planted and that there was no moving the location around. These characters are from Beulah. Norah (a semi-frequent character in the book) wouldn’t have her hair shop in the same place…had I moved the story to Savannah I would have had to completely redesign Main Street….and it took me long enough to get the topography of the city right in the first place. (Yes, I’ve drawn out a map and everything.)
These kind of decisions are extremely liberating as a writer (I don’t feel quite confident enough to call myself an author yet.) I love that my characters and storyline were strong enough to convince me that the move couldn’t be made. It’s because of allllllllllllllll of the other 4989695425 decisions I’ve made thus far regarding this project that led me to this final decision. The South Carolina Comparison has been completed. AND IT FEELS GOOD!
I normally don’t enjoy getting on soap boxes about friendship because I feel so strongly about it and often feel that I overstep my boundaries. But recently, everything in my mind has been centered around feelings towards friendship and I know that for the next few entries I’ll speak on it at least once. This time around it’s in the shape of a rant.
If you know me, you know that I am your friend until I’m blue in the face; the listening ear, the shoulder to cry on, the ever-sympathizing soul, the friend that will tell it like it is but with just the right amount of sugar on top. Here’s the thing though….not all people operate their friendships like this. I know that there are times when our friends need a little and other times our friends need a lot. HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW IF THEY DON’T TELL US? I will be the first to admit that I’ve had to really lean on my friends through this divorce that I’m going through (yep, there I said it.) I don’t particularly enjoy asking for help, I firmly believe that I can do most things on my own, but sometimes you just have to be woman (man) enough to admit that you need it and ask. another thought: your friends are not mind readers (and if they are I’d like to meet them.) They cannot possibly know that you’re feeling shut out and alone. Most of the time when we feel alienated or alone, we’ve done it to ourselves. I’m not afraid to admit that I’ve fallen off the face of the earth quite a few times, even recently. Call it a lack of desire to explain what’s going on or testing out your friends to, “see who really cares,” or whatever….either way you end up feeling left out in the cold because you can’t just open up and say what it is you need. We’re not mind readers. It’s not that we don’t care…we just don’t know.
Being a friend is hard. If you do it and you do it well, and have others in your life that do it well, thank them for their friendship. For real.
end longest rambling post ever.