It all started when I stopped having long curly hair. Instead of, well, curling, it started having tentacles of rebellion. A lumpy section here, a weird volume-thing over an ear, gravity-defying stunts in back that all could be fixed by liberal applications of mousee, hairspray, or the old standby--dousing it all with water and starting over, one eye on the mirror and the other on the clock that tells me just how late I'm running. But I still had mastery. I learned how to out-maneuver my hair and I was happy. And if all else failed, there was the ponytail, savior of bad-hair everywhere.

Last week, I got my hair cut the shortest it's been in 18 years (or more. I'm not sure when my last bowl-cut might have been.) This, my friends, was seen as Pearl Harbor, the last straw, the sneak attack galvanizing the US (my hair) into war against the Axis (me). My hair has risen up, quite literally, and begun a systematic deployment of unconsciable acts designed to wear me down and admit defeat.

NO! I WILL NOT!

Listen up, hair. You are mine. I grew you, and I can cut you off. When I say 'lay down', you. do. it. See these bottles? See these brushes? See these implements with hot hot heat?
I have all the toys. I win.
Now, lay down.
FLATTEN, you bastard!

::ahem::

I woke up the other morning with the voluminous hair generally reserved for my sister's head. It's not *bad*, per se, jus tnowehere near my normal look. It's the volume reserved for rat-tail combs and cans of Mega-Hold Rave, not me. Water helped, as did a hat.

Today, tho...oh, quelle horror. I find my hair gleefully anticipatory as I get my first look; the left side is entrely perfect.
Perfect.
I could walk out the door just as is and have great hair. It's dream hair. The right half, on the other hand, is a negation of everything good and right concerning hair. Instead of turning under and being mildly voluminous, I'm looking at a Joey Lawrence (circa Blossom)/Allison Mack (circa Smallville) fright fest that screams Help Me! Help Me!

Water? Blowdrier? Check.
No good.

Product and curling iron? Check.
Still not good. Not hideous anymore, but I can't go out with bipolar hair. I just don't project that kind of 'whimsy' that others with this hair have.

On the other hand, I'm late, I'm late, I work with people who don't always remember to comb their hair (or wash their face/body/self, but that's another MMR entirely) so I shouldn't spaz quite this much. For the record, today I hated it and people thought it was cute. I guess I'm just too hard on myself.

But this hair? Is not going to win. I canNOT lose to my hair.