Written March 1, 2011
As I sit here at my computer, halted by a lack of words to type upon the screen, they beckon to me, calling me incessantly by name. My train of thoughts derails. I can’t help but look, study, inspect every last one of them. And then I begin to pick them off. First one, then another, and another, until I can no longer control myself. I’ve lost track of the death toll but the proof lies scattered all over my pajamas.
“Rebecca, please stop,” Todd begs from across the room. He can't stand to watch.
And then I realize; it was the split ends that prompted the short haircut in the first place. Split ends were the reason I kept my tresses neat and trim for so many years. The haircut protected and preserved my sanity.
“So now what?" I think wondering if I'll ever overcome. It's been a hard won fight to grow it long again. And then I pause and grab a handful of hair; for the ends have summoned me again.
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