January 13, 2005
The Big Baby Becomes an Inadvertant Brunette
I have spent the weekend with my Big Baby . She has improved. Usually when I notice her, she is inserting sharp instruments into tender parts of my anatomy . In gratitude, we will have to attend to her at once before she starts somatizing .
In typical fashion, the Big Baby first appeared at the hairdresser. My Good Enough Self asked trustingly for a couple of little brown streaks, in my more or less solid blond coif. Mind you, it has taken many moons to convince my dear hairdresser to deliver me to blondehood. Hours later, when I emerged from under a a Christmas tree of foil, I was definitely a brunette --an enraged Big Baby Brunette, to be accurate.
My dear hairdresser, seeing my obvious distress , spent a few more hours adding lighter streaks. This did not appease the Big Baby , who arrived at her station, the very next day, for another complete redo. Seven hours wasted just to mollify you know who. I hope my hair doesn't fall out in handfuls . I would be wise to find out why these episodes happen - what is triggered from the past that is so upsetting.
Good Enough Self: Look, you're being a Big Baby again. WHEN will you grow up?
BB: You are sounding impatient; impatience will get you nowhere. It's my duty to let you know when you have been victimized , intruded upon, and unheard , I'm just being yourself. It's a lousy job , but someone has to do it.
GES: Oh grow up, dear. After all, it's only your hair, and it will grow out for heaven's sake. Besides, let's face it, there are other more essential things that you could work on to improve your appearance, should you still, at your advanced age, give a shit.
BB: I'm only four, dummy. And how my hair looks seems excruciatingly important. It's mine and I HATE it!
GES: What ARE those feelings you are trying to communicate. Let me remind you that they certainly don't help in our quest for harmony and peace .
BB: If I were old enough to articulate well, I guess I'd call it something like helpless rage, feeling screwed by a trusted authority. But since I can only feel, it feels like I'm going to explode , and when I do shrapnel will be everywhere, and my jaw will be locked shut and I will be emitting a shrill nasal tone between my clenched teeth. Then my head will blow off. But none of it will help. It will only get worse.
GES: Goodness. It's certainly no fun sharing a body with you under these circumstances. You don't attribute sadistic intent to your beloved hairdresser, do you? Do you have her mixed up with someone else perchance?
BB: She hates me blond.
GES: No she doesn't, dear, she just has better taste than you do, and is trying to encourage your general dignity .
BB: THIS is why I feel it necessary to cause you bodily pain. NOBODY knows better than I do, about myself. YOU are a sell out. YOU acquiesed to authority all the time, and I am here to make you pay attention to that. We are going back to the hairdresser for four more hours and get it right or I will make you miserable for at least two months.
GES: Dear, that's known as solving the problem by changing what's on the outside, rather than what's on the inside . A temporary solution at best. When did you first notice this feeling?
BB: I was immersed in it from the time I was born, stupid . That is, until I learned to tune into my mother, instead of myself. Then I stayed out of trouble, I also stayed out of myself. I learned not to have desire. Now, when I dare to have a wish and it is thwarted, it reminds me of the olden days, when I was full of unmet wishes -- a veritable little hand grenade of a person.
GES: I can see that you are much improved. You seem to have lost your thirst for retaliation and annihilation lately.
BB: Don't count on it.
Photo note: A metaphorical portrait of my hair - the green part will probably take some time to develop.
Posted by Dakota at January 13, 2005 06:41 AM