It’s the type of day I should have planned for: A nice day.
The oddity of a nice day is, if there’s no one to mention it to, it’s kind of a lost phenomenon. I am sitting and watching the day be Nice. How nice for the day, that it’s such a nice day but, may I ask you, sweet Sun, what is it about you that makes me feel so lonely.
My dog and I were out for hours this morning. I love my dog, he’s my best friend but today, somehow, I had the sense of someone else being there. I am unsure of what the feeling actually was but I think I imagined myself a boyfriend. It’s hard to admit but I may be dipping into desperate romantic hallucinations.
I had a very bad night last night and I blame Kara. Additionally (because why not), I blame all the Karas that entertain my imagination with What Life Could Be. I drunk texted at least three friends last night to let them know that being a Drunk Single Writer is not what I saw for myself. After scrolling through images of beautiful women with beautiful lives, I harvested and textually chanted the question “Why don’t I have a husband and long hair”. WHY DON’T I HAVE A HUSBAND AND LONG HAIR? Over and over again to various phones. Solid question. Ridiculous complaint.
Kara has a husband and long hair. I invented her and, without realizing it, because I originally only intended to create a character iconic of all millenials, but then really without realizing it, I made her exactly who I have always wished to be. I didn’t even know my body could portray her and her perfected confident beauty, let alone transform into Her. I have surprised myself with how good I can look if I truly fake it. But, then why don’t I have a husband and long hair? Because I don’t. I just don’t have that.
I stared at her, lying in my bed, ounces and ounces of whisky fogging my perception, wishing I was this very happy woman who is half naked in front of the camera and supposedly in front of man she loves. I fell asleep eventually but I woke up sad. The sadness transformed into an imagined boyfriend, escorting my dog and I to the park, fascinated with me, as all boyfriends should be with their girlfriends. I returned home to solitude. I stared in the mirror. And then, I took an iron to my hair.
My hair is ringlet-tight and short. I ruined it but actually not really. I transformed from Sideshow Bob into Nick Nolte which is a step closer to sexy so: Maybe it’s a good day.
If you do not have curly hair, you may not understand how irrationally stupid it is to try to straighten ringlets on a sunny day in Toronto. It takes time and thought away from reality. I stared into the mirror hoping to transform into Kara without her wig but all that occurred was a strange explosion of the word NO fizzling off the ends of each one of my locks. NO, I am not meant to look put together, I was not born to be a living doll and I am approaching the cliff, stepping off the edge of reason yelling WHY, ironing a piece of my body into an impression of a thing I think might help me fall in love.
When I was in middle school my cousin had beautiful curls and I hoped to have the same. My hair used to hang, straight, a bang-cut, cute little girl messy, but I wanted curls just like my cousin because she was the emulation of beauty to me. Puberty struck and my hair curled but then, I could not make the curls look good. I collected hair product after hair product in the hopes of looking pretty despite a disastrously large ball of frizz situated on my frontal as if it were some sort of innovative eye-shield from the sun.
In eighth grade, a group of girls invited me to a gathering they were having at one of their houses. I had never been invited anywhere so I was thrilled to go. Twenty minutes into the event it was revealed to me that the entire day had been planned so that they could straighten my hair with the host’s flat iron. I left her home looking like Confusion. Maybe if that day would have gone better, I’d be speaking to you from beneath the crown of a knowledgeably hair-styled woman but instead I just look like I either need a lot of sleep or a lot of mousse. Or both. The hair isn’t long. But, then again, there is no witness to this because I don’t have a husband.
I know a lot of women who are reading this are also single. I hope none of you lie awake at night evaluating your empty beds. I really like my empty bed most of the time. But, there are no photos on Instagram of empty beds. There are no shots of the drinks we take when we’re alone and wondering if we can invent a version of reality that at least feels a little more crowded, if only for an evening. We don’t line up empty beer bottles and write “LOL SINGLE AND TANKING”, though I don’t know why because it’s at least a little funny. But, then, I don’t know why it’s funny to be single when it’s not funny at all when people get married. I don’t know why single women are the clowns.
While writing this I am stealing some love from a friend of mine who is texting me reassurance from a province far away, encouraging a comfort in loneliness. I should spread that encouragement now. I really wish I had long hair and a husband. I doubt I am the only one with as shallow a wish list as that. But, sometimes it’s just not what we have. I have so many other things. I can’t get sappy here because I’ll regret it later but if all we do today is thank one person for their love, it will be more intimacy and reward than most marriages see in a week at least.
Today my dog stares at me and whines. I rehearsed a solo show that I am writing for him and I’m sure he didn’t like it because it didn’t involve a game of fetch. I am still wearing Kara’s makeup from the photos I took of her earlier when I decided, as Rachel in Recovery From a Friday Evening, that Facebook and Instagram were Comforting, if only for the realization that Connection is a much easier game now thanks to technology.
I towered over my phone all morning. The pure distraction moved time. Kara posted one photo but Rachel posted a few. The photos posted on my personal instagram were images of my face either without makeup or transitioning into Kara’s makeup. Those photos have received a lot of attention. Perhaps the spirit of transformation is more captivating than the egotistical satisfaction with who we are already. Maybe I am more interesting than Kara because I am still seeking and changing and learning. Maybe long hair and a husband is only something I’ll ever fake and write about faking. Maybe it’s something that will come with time. For now, I’ll shower and let my hair curl. And I’ll thank my friend for reminding me that solitude is sometimes a mark of brilliance, sometimes a hardship and sometimes just a normal everyday everyone thing.
This blog is updated daily, detailing my transformation into a fictional character who is being crafted for a larger theatrical project. If you like it, please share to social media, follow the blog and come back soon
You can read Kara’s blog at http://www.okkarablog.wordpress.com
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