Back in eighth grade, I was almost suspended for a letter that I wrote to the school librarian. I called her a racist in the letter. But that's not what almost got me suspended. I included a line that said something about that she should watch how she treats people. The folks at my junior high took it as a threat. I tried to explain to them that I was not saying that I was going to do anything to her. Instead, I was merely pointing out that others, in the future, may not choose to use the same method for expressing themselves. My favorite part of the whole ordeal was when they asked me who helped me to write the letter. Huh? Apparently my mother explained to them, after she showed up, that I was too intelligent to sign my name to a letter alone if someone else had helped to write it. And why was my mother there? Well, when I first showed up in the counselor's office, the counselor kept asking who else had been with me in the library that day. I felt that it was immaterial and refused to answer, firmly stating that I had written the letter alone. She finally said that if I didn't give her the names that she would call my mother so I did. And then she picked up the phone and called my mother. Bitch! When my mother arrived, the counselor was busy so I was able to give her my side of it all. I found out later that my mother ripped the counselor a new one for how she had treated me. They also decided that I needed to apologize to the counselor. After discussing it all with my mother, she told me that I had to apologize to the woman for making her upset but that I didn't need to apologize for what I said since I sincerely believed it.
Yep, there's that stream of consciousness at work. Because what I now realize is that I am not sorry for what I said to my mother but I am sorry for the words I chose to use to express my displeasure. Most folks who have not known me since childhood do not realize that I have a short fuse. Over the years, I have learned to bite my tongue and to take a breath. The problem with my mother is that I bite my tongue but then never get around to expressing how I really feel. So with her I end up being a walking time bomb. What came out last Monday was months, possibly years, of pent up anger. I have learned how to tell most other folks in a rational way that I am angry and why I am but somehow telling my mother these things is something that I still cannot do.
Enough about that though. I actually got out of the house yesterday. To a hair appointment. Originally I had planned to cancel the appointment because cash is kind of tight right now. But then I got paid more for the dog-sitting gig than I had expected to. About the same amount that my hair appointment would cost. I took it as a sign.
Back in April when my regular stylist was laid up with a broken foot, I went to my mother's stylist for a trim. She cut my hair. As in inches. My hair was no longer shoulder length and was now more like a bob. So I've been trying to let it grow back out but it's been completely frustrating. Summer has been hell because there is nothing worse than being a black woman with non-chemically straightened hair that is too short to pin up when the temperature rises. My solution in the past has been to slick it back and to clip on a ponytail. The only problem is that my current hair color no longer matches the ponytails I own. So after leaving the salon, I headed to the beauty supply. I used to be a plain old #4. (That's a hair color.) The lady in the shop and I decided that the best match for me now is a blend of three colors -- 4, 27, and 30. We thought about the 33 but then decided that it was too dark. And she had ponytails in two different lengths in the colors I needed. And since they were half the price of what I have previously spent on ponytails, I bought both. One is what I like to think of as an everyday look -- just past the shoulders. The other is the length I like to call "party hair." This is the one that hits about mid-back. As soon as I got home, I tried on the everyday length one. (Especially since I now have to adjust to the drawstring versus the clip.) It looked great. Nothing like new hair to make a girl feel good.
And now I have to get ready for my interview. I haven't heard anything from the "dream job." Their possible loss. Today's interview is a second interview. And tomorrow I have a meeting scheduled with someone from a recruiting firm. I'm hoping that I'll be employed within the next couple of weeks. When I shared this news with my dad, he said, "I wasn't that worried about you because you always make things happen." And I should probably thank my mother. Because my anger with her was probably a huge motivating factor. Because in the past whenever I've felt the need to make a job change, I first have to get really angry.
And for those of you who have stuck around this long, a treat.
Inspired by Zoomie. Chicken salad on English muffin topped with avocado and medium cheddar cheese. Delicious.
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