In the middle of my shower I start woefully laughing at myself as I shave off all of the dreaded hair that I have grown to live with the last two years, but especially in the last year. There is SO MUCH history here. I will begin from present. Currently it is a chore to get into the shower most days. When I do it is a simple get the face and ass, and occasionally the hair (my hair’s natural oils do wonders and conditioner is gross so no washing is a thing). This simple hygiene task is a chore for a myriad of reasons, a). time to accomplish other life tasks, b). older children’s mental health often obstructs my day planning, c). random, sudden, and emergent occurrences of Mckenzie illnesses, d.) my own depression, and well, e). I come last. It’s that simple. So, when I do shower it is most often with Mckenzie, thus reassuring that THIS shower will consist of washing Mckenzie and then my face and ass so I can rush out and make sure that I help Jerome with bedtime stuff.
In the rare event that I can shave or take the time to shave I have usually forgotten my razor and don’t want to ask my already exhausted husband to get it out of the safe, because yes, like our knives, chemicals, medicines, and anything else we can think of they are all locked up in order to keep my older two boys as safe as possible. I don’t know whether to scream, laugh hysterically, or cry in these moments. Has THIS really become MY life? One where shaving is the most difficult task of my evening because the razor isn’t fucking available, because my dumbass was too damn tired or distracted to remember it in the first place? Because the fucking razor was locked in a safe when I feel like I should be able to lead a simple, free-range-razor-existence where my Venus can happily sing and moo on my shower shelf. Maybe there’s a saying for razors too? Happy razors make better shaves? I told you, don’t take me seriously, because I sure as fuck can’t.
So, as I am shaving off months of debris I had basically given up on ever getting rid of I sat there and had this horrid thread you are reading now: Shaving is an Effing luxury. And I really think it’s time to change that. But how? I started to think the hair thing just wasn’t that important (because really it isn’t-most people don’t even really notice.) But I don’t like it. I feel less comfortable and it makes me feel less like me. This and throwing shit out should probably be solved soon. And exercise that I think is fun… so not exercise, but an activity that get the violence inherent in my system taken care off. More later on these three things. I put it out there. Now I have to actually do it.