16 March 2020


my primary response to emotional trauma, as some of you may know, is to cut my bangs.

true story: therapy would be better. BUT (and, as pee-wee says, everybody has a big but), at-home bang cutting tis cheaper.

but also sometimes one wants to wear one's pain on one's head. and the thing about the bang-trauma is i do like the visible disruption that it creates. it really puts the emotional upheaval all right out there.

you see me. you see my hair. and you ask, OLINE, WTF HAPPENED? 

for the record, i've not done it yet. but, whew boy, i can feel it coming.

the most traumatic of my traumatic bang cuts (the most iconic, if you will) was just prior to my own personal brexit.

NOB and i went to paris in november 2017. she apparently spent the whole trip meaning to tell me my fringe was the perfect length. i came home and committed bangmurder and then had to leave the country.

you may recall.

(for the record: this was at least two weeks into re-growth)

lindear continued to love me in spite of this.

n.muh promptly forbid me from cutting my fringe again until valentine's day 2018.

seeing me on skype in mid-january 2018, jmills said OLINE, WHATTHEFUCKHAPPENED? and, when i told her it had happened two months priors, replied, OOOOOOH, I THOUGHT YOU JUST DID THAT LAST NIGHT!!! SO THEY WERE SHORTER ONCE UPON A TIME??!?! 

but it's ok, they grew back, life moved on.

yesterday, i was talking on the phone with debo, as we do every day now, and i guess she intuited where we are now.

i know this is stressful. you're not going to cut your bangs are you? she asked. you are, aren't you? 

i reassured her that i will wait, though how long remains to be seen.

UPDATE (3/17): reader, i cut them. 

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