Sacrifice

     I have just recently gnashed off many brave fingernails that dared to mount a comeback on my historically doomed hands. The loss is great. Everything I had worked for is now gnawed back to the stumpy carnage of my less disciplined days. I wonder if I might be vicariously giving myself a haircut through my fingernails. It could be that; or it could be that I'm insecure, anxious, nervous, and whatever else causes one to ritually chew away the tips of themselves. But I am in the market for a haircut so it's probably a combination of things. I go back and forth with this hair issue because some days I have really good hair days, and some days it's all I can do to stay away from scissors. Just when I'm ready to bust down the door of Sal's Barber Shop someone, (an acquaintance) will grab me by the shoulders, look me square in the face and say how good I look, how great my "haircut" is, etc. My friend who is moving to L. fucking A. goddamit is trying to get me interested in moving out there also. In the spirit of open-mindedness I looked at the L.A. personal ads to see what the L.A. chicks look like and look for. Every single one of the ladies that I checked out either stated they wanted feminine women or checked long hair in their "turn on" box. By simply growing my hair I can cross over into another check box. I'm still lost to the feminine seekers no matter how long my hair gets I'm afraid. In fact, if I get to the ponytail stage I might end up looking like a skinny hippy guy. Tragic. One thing is certain; that I must reactivate the no chew zone. As I survey the damage, I'm glad I didn't get to my hair first. This would have been a very different entry.