Cut My Hair.

I'm going gray. As in, my hair has started to turn on me. Appropriately it began in my widow's peak, so I don't know if that is irony at it's finest in my singlehood, or just the way things are.

I might just be one of those people whose hair goes gray at really early age, like 32 or something. I'll have to decide what to do about it, you know, like just let it go... or am I too vain for that? Like my mother, testing dyes to see if red or blond (or both) suits my one-time black head of hair.

For now I pluck them out like one night stands I don't care to remember. But they grow back... slowly, suddenly. Just like that guy who left in the middle of the night, but you still remember his name and think of one night out of no where when you're making the bed. Oh yeah... that guy.

I don't mind going gray. It can be as charming as anything else I suppose. Like casual dating. Though when you wake up next to him, sometimes there's a tinge of sadness because it's not really what you want. At least its not a bad hair cut. That's like a bad break up. It'll grow out, but damn it looks like shit, and man it feels like shit.

I guess when it comes to going gray, it'll happen some day anyway. One can only hope you take it gracefully. The same goes for love I suppose, one can only hope you get the chance to dye it whatever color you like.