I’ve had some inner turmoil going on. You see, I have this friend. No, not like I’m talking about myself “friend”; “one-of-my-closest-friends-in-the-world” friend. Anywhoo, we have a couple of tacit agreements:
#1 We will be roommates in hell.
#2 We will never cross over to the “other side” (unless that “other side” is hell, which of course, we will do hand-in-hand).
In short, we’re both on “that stuff”…the creamy crack. But like any good addict, I’ve been keeping a big secret from her. And if she’s reading this, I’m sure she’s shaking her silky-haired head.
For the past year, I’ve been stretching out my relaxers (I average about 10-11 weeks). As I’ve taken a glimpse at my natural texture, I’ve kinda’ been rocking with my locks. BUT by the last week of my stretch, when the shedding gets unbearable, I ask myself “so what are we going to do?”.
I contemplate just cutting it all the hell off because as India says, “I am not my hair…I am not your expectations…no”. Then I remember the good times I’ve had with my signature bob. India chimes in again. Then I switch over to Jim Jones because all of that thinking is draining. I also schedule a relaxer appointment.
Once again, I find myself walking down a dusty road contemplating my next move…like good ol’ “Bruce Banner”. Cue the saddest television theme song ever made.