I hate my hair, and other metaphors

"I hate my hair!" I told M.

"...why?"

"It's a metaphor for my life," I said, tongue-in-cheek. "And, well, also I have split ends and need a trim."

The thing is: my hair totally is a metaphor for my life. Let me explain.

It's getting long and straggly; I am getting old and fraying at the edges. Whatever style it used to have, it has grown out of and I have no idea what the hell it's doing now except growing longer; I have no idea what I'm doing with my life but am stumbling forward without a plan all the same because, well, objects in motions tend to stay in motion. My hair is like an object in motion. Metaphorically!

The red from the dye has long faded and is now a dirty, diseased brown color with roots growing out on top. There are three options: 1) let it grow out bi-colored; 2) re-dye the entire thing a color that doesn't make my skin look ridiculously sallow; or 3) re-dye the entire thing black so the roots can grow out in peace and secret.

The issues with options 2 and 3, however, mostly revolve around cost. Dyeing is not generally a cheap venture; even with Asian stylists who don't charge an arm and leg like salons do, it's upward of $60+. (And that was my great St. Louis deal! I miss you, David from Hong Kong. He gave me custom color jobs.)

The metaphor here: the little luxuries in life have to be put on the back-burner when one is jobless and only dreaming of a steady income. Don't spend what you don't have; hell, don't spend what you have, at least not on things you can afford to live without. It's practical, logical, reasonable - and it's depressing, isn't it?

I don't love a lot about my body but my hair came closest to being my vanity. I joked around in high school of doing shampoo commercials when I grew up. I had strong, healthy, shiny, soft hair. I could scrub shampoo through it and make orgasmic noises with the best of them! My future back-up plan was set.

It's superficial (so superficial, I know) but I look at my hair these days and say, only half-joking, "I hate my hair." I wouldn't go so far to say it's painful, but it's certainly disappointing.

I suppose I really mean, I am dissatisfied with something I used to take vain pride in and am frustrated that it was pointless and that there doesn't seem to be any way for me to fix that at the moment.

Like I said: I have split ends and I need a trim.