Not much to report on the WLS front today. I was tied up with work, and didn’t get the chance to make any calls, which is disappointing. I have appointments to set up, and know they need done, so I’m probably going to have to just punch out for lunch tomorrow and make my calls. (I usually just work through lunch, eating a salad or sandwich at my desk.) I don’t want to squander any more time. I feel like I’ve wasted so much of my life, even though I know damn well I wasn’t ready to go through with all this until very recently. I think if I’d tried, I’d have failed the process, and in turn failed myself. So when I say I’m glad I waited, I mean it.
One new item is my haircut. For those of you that know me beyond the blogosphere, I’ve been getting gray hair since I was about 13 years old. I had enough of it that by the time I was 18 or 19, I started coloring it, then highlighting it, to try and cover it up. Torturing my hair went on for about 20 years, when I made a conscious decision to stop coloring it. I was 40, and it was long; about 2/3 of the way down my back. And it felt like straw. When you touched my hair, it crinkled.
So as I was preparing to come from one of our satellite offices one day, I decided to cut my hair. I walked in the salon, saw a picture on the wall I liked and said “Give me that”. I swear, the poor stylist was panicked. I think she was afraid I’d come back with buyer’s remorse and kick her ass. After 15 or so minutes of assuring her I wanted THAT cut, she started cutting. It was just above my collar, and I loved it. All the nastiness was gone from the ends, but boy howdy, did I have a lot of gray! The kicker? Everybody in the salon complimented me on what a beautiful shade of gray my hair was. More silver than gray, really. And I’ve stuck with it ever since. I even use blue shampoo to make sure it doesn’t look dingy. Six years later, and I still haven’t colored it.
I consider myself very lucky that I can wear short hair, and wear it in a more contemporary style. One of the girls at work made a comment that I look like an old lady with my gray hair and cane. I say “fuck it”. I like my gray hair. And if the cane keeps me on two feet, so be it. Yes, I’m only 46. Some days my body feels 86. But my head feels 26. So you do the math.
I wonder what will happen to the fat rolls on the back of head once I’ve had surgery?