PoYB from the Vault: Emotional Haircut

No baby yet. I don't want to just sit here twiddling my thumbs as the days pass with no contractions, so fuck it, here's a blog post from 11/2008. It's very emo. Lately, I've been trying to post stupid shit at the beginning of the week, so that I am motivated to blog more and bury this shit. It works! Here's Emo Joe with some memories:

I got a new haircut, and I fucking hate it. I'm literally saddened to near tears about it. Why, you may ask, are you upset if the hair will grow back eventually? Read on.

I hate Developmental Psychology. I hate toddlers and babies, and thus, I hate learning about how they develop and grow psychologically. It's a drag. Unfortunately, there's one aspect of this subject that has me intrigued—Erikson's Theory of Psychosocial Development. It's the study of "identity" and the journey in finding yourself.

I guess the reason I'm pretty interested in this shit is because it doesn't really have to do with babies and their reactions to petty lab tests; it has to do with people my age, and the identity crises that teenagers my age typically face.

I fucking barely know who I am. I have no idea what I want to be when I get older. I don't know why I'm in school if all I do is slack off and party. I try to do the best I can, but it's hard.

I thought I could be a good boyfriend type, and that's how I knew myself for a while there, I was her boyfriend. And it was nice spending time with her, and we had fun, and I was loving life. But that fell apart and I don't really know where to go from here. I digress.

I decided today would be a good day for a haircut, seeing as I was going to get one three weeks ago anyway but the director of the play I was in said I should wait. So I take the bus to the old neighborhood, but my regular barber is closed, and so I go to a random salon on the corner, and they butcher it. Fucking butcher it.

Honestly, it's not the haircut that sucks. It would look good on other people I guess. But it's not me.

In my journey of become my own identity, I became accustomed to my hairstyle, and it became me. And now, in a week when I lose the play and my girlfriend and my good mood, I lose my hair too. I lose my identity. And that fucking sucks.

So, I'll continue to let people say it "looks good," and I'll continue to let people tell me it'll grow back eventually, and I'll continue to let people try to cheer me up, but the fact of the matter is is that I feel empty inside without these things. There's a hole in my stomach that I can't seem to fill with anything but Natty Light and jungle juice and Hurricane.

I guess, like my hair, I'll just have to let my life grow back.