Friday, May 25, 2007
Just call me slaphead
Two sleeping pills last night, asleep by 10.30pm, awake at midnight, asleep again fairly quickly after that, awake again at 4 on the dot and no sleep thereafter.
So so far today I've read several more chapters of Brooklyn Follies by Paul Auster, shared tea and breakfast telly with R before he heads off to some more delivery work today, and now I have time to update the blog before heading to the shower and then the office. Not sure how long I'll last later until I crash from glassy-eyed exhaustion but it's worth a go.
The bald patch, as you can see is widening. I am torn between holding on to what semblance of reality I can still create with a hat or bandana on (the back and lower parts of the sides are still quite normal looking when just poking out from under a cover of some sort) or just giving in and clippering the whole lot off to a grade 4 or some such length. Although as my mother subtly put it last week when trying to persuade me to consider a wig, "Britney is generally considered very pretty and yet even she looked dreadful with no hair".
My mother is not evil. She just has a serious case of foot in mouth, most of the time. And in her defense the comment is taken out of context - she was trying to persuade me to reconsider looking for a wig as she knew I was getting depressed about the hair loss.
But there's a 'Fuck you' element to the big shave which quite appeals. Fuck you to cancer, that is. My oncologist told me on Tuesday that one women she treated had a ceremonial shave with her boyfriend and a large bottle of champagne.
We're considering doing it in R's garden (less mess and the opportunity to recycle my hair for birds' nests) this weekend. Using a combination of scissors (get the length off) and my rather dubious 'Trim n Shave' Remington clippers which are designed for a totally different area of the female body. And no, that's not the legs...
at 8:47 am