Kicking cancer's ass - day 530

I really despise my hair lately.

There.  I said it.

No, I don't need to be reminded that this time last year I didn't have any hair to speak of.  I know that!  Would I rather have the crazy 'do I have now or be bald?  I'll take the hair, of course.  I am grateful for my hair.  But that doesn't mean I have to like it.

Of course it makes me feel guilty complaining about it.  I spent almost a year of my life with little or no hair.  I know what that's like, and I never want to go there again.  I have friends who are going through chemo yet again, just when they were getting their hair back.  I know they would take my stupid hair over losing theirs all over again.  I know that hair is a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things.  I'm alive, and I'm grateful.

But.  

Naturally curly hair looks great when it's shoulder-length.  It looks puffy and round like an old lady's perm when it's only a few inches long.  Even my son knows this, because the guy who is oblivious to everything said, "Mom, you're getting a 70's afro."  Nice.  

I don't know what to do with it.  It's too short to be long and too long to be short.  It's too thick to straighten but too curly to just leave as is.  I'm beyond frustrated with it.  I can't even wear a hat and look cute.  Yesterday I put on a baseball cap before going to K's softball practice because it was windy and I didn't want my hair blowing all over the place.  You know what I looked like?  I had a mullet.  

I don't look like me, and it's depressing.  I don't feel good about myself.  Even after a year and a half my self-esteem keeps taking hit after hit.... scars, fake boobs, weight gain, and now every morning I have to figure out what to do to my hair besides cut it all off.

Thank you, cancer.