I’ve been lying awake at night for weeks now. Mostly churning over the happenings of the day, dwelling over the happenings of tomorrow and wondering how I’ll fit in all of my nifty little resolutions I’ve got listed under the bright blue title of January.
Lately, I lie there, mostly on my back, hands crossed calmly over my mid-section staring at the new chandelier. In my defense, it’s quite beautiful and quite distracting.
During these mind-numbing moments of insomnia, I’m not struck with brilliant ideas regarding the writing or my next manuscript idea. Instead, I’m finally tackling the intersecting segments of my life. For years I’ve kept them in distinct little silos, careful not to let them influence each other. Much like my plate of food at holiday parties. Nothing can touch anything else. In fact, as a child I’d get an extra napkin so if the corn started moving into the mashed potatoes, I could simply dab up the juice and keep them separate once again. I should’ve known then what this would do to my life.
I’ve been thinking about my extroverted daily interactions where personality and boisterous energy prevail, where hair and the efficacy of silk powder proteins and the description of the hair shaft and root direction are part of my daily vocabulary. Then I come home and try to turn off my hair brain and turn on my word brain. The transition is always sticky, messy, and usually not too successful. So in my late night wanderings I thought to myself – why haven’t I tried to write about that which seems to consume my days. Hair Poems. Some friends and poets have been urging this since last fall, but I’ve been resistant. Now I’m going with the notion of stop resisting that which is natural. Hair Poems have begun. Stay tuned.