I wish I wasn’t a punk rocker with flowers in my hair

OK I’m not. I don’t have flowers in my hair and, technically, am not really a punk rocker either.

But I sure as hell look like one.

Today, ladies and gents, is the next installment in my most major, nay famous, analogy. My hair cuts. (See here for the full hairstory.)

I have gone and gotten all controversial on 1 Corinthian 11’s ass. Which I will in due course (or not, I am aware I make empty promises when it comes to blogs and apologise. Please Matthew 18 me) be expounding on but today in not the day for biblical debates (I think that sounds more like a Tuesday thing doesn’t it?).

I no longer have face length hair. It doesn’t even cover my ears. In fact, some may argue that my whole attempt to have long locks has been somewhat marred by my decision to cut it all off to not more than 2 inches in any place.

‘Citing though, in’t it?

I have been this way since Monday. The title might suggest that I am not best please with the idea. “Getting tired of it already are you Kat(i)e?” I hear you cry. “That’s what happens when you make a whimsical decision on a bored impulse.” Should have stuck to the waiting slowly and repeatedly recolouring to bring myself into some kind of semblance of truth till I had fully grown through, maybe?

But the thing is, it was getting a bit much. Constant redying was a drain on the resources if nothing else and the effect did not really last very long ever and wasn’t always as good a match each time. It stood me in good stead for a time but the fact remains that some things are too damaged to repair and you do just need to cut off and start again.

And this does indeed fit in well with where I am at right now. Check out Ezekiel 39 (particularly vs. 12-16) and you will see my life story. As long as you can replace Israel with Kat(i)e; Gog with [insert terrors from the world here]; skeletons with assortment of left over memories, insecurities, traits, resentments, attachments etc etc and tweak a few other key phrases like bury, search party and land. The essence is there though and I am indeed 7 months on from doing some pretty big battles (in the spiritual sense) and have been, on my return, doing some major cleansing (a mixture of literal and symbolic) and burying (of people, possessions and thought patterns – metaphorically that is). The to-the-day “coincidences” have been uncanny and I have, during the week at my folks, been doing some more sorting out of actual stuff. I am cutting the crap and sometimes you just have to be drastic.

And that is what I did hairlistically speaking too. I chopped away at the ashen (as in a shade of blonde and post fire!) remains and salvaged the roots, where the true colour is at. Underneath it all I had enough new growth to make a proper style of it. Just.

And that just is what I don’t like so much. It is cool enough and faking it was hard work, but really I do want more. I want to have a bob again and be looking forward expectantly to it hitting my shoulder blades. And beyond…

But this all takes time. Patience. Waiting. At least I am back to "how I was intended". The remnants of the bleach attack are, aside from a few tiny wisps at the front, all but lost. The colour? Fabulously "ginge" ☺ Being at the start of what I know will be a long process is pretty daunting whilst not particularly pretty, but it is real. I'm getting established and am on my way.

Which also fits in with what I'm getting up to. Yesterday I was all organised, checking out about studying, organising support, paying bills, ringing the gas man, seeing the carpenter, sending off insurance papers. Today a few more errands and dealing with "household affairs". All the grown up stuff! Revolution is indeed in the air.