Did your need to procrastinate ever lead you to a really dumb decision?
In the middle of writing a key scene in my novel this morning, I decided I needed a haircut. Of course this was simply a ploy from some twisted part of me to stay away a while longer from my computer. I really dread writing this scene.
I lingered in front of the mirror, bemoaning my wrinkly forehead and arched eyebrows (which I plucked twenty years ago in another procrastination effort, and they just never grew back), and I decided I could use some bangs.
These are the moments when I wish I’d posted “Get back to your book” signs all over the house.
Did I call my hairdresser? No – that would have led to an appointment for another day, which would mean I’d have to return to my computer and finish the damned scene. Instead, I reached for a pair of scissors.
I thought I planned it out nicely. I combed out a patch of locks at the front of my head and separated it from the rest. I pulled it snug to keep it in place. I opened the scissors just below the spot I wanted my bangs to hang (i.e., covering the wrinkly forehead and eyebrow arches). But I didn’t account for the poofyness of hair. When you pull it down in front of your face and hold it tight to cut a straight line across, it poofs up much MUCH shorter than expected. And the result is something like this:
“That was a bad idea,” I said aloud the moment I saw what I’d done. I cracked up for a bit – because it is the sort of haircut only created by five-year-olds or desperately procrastinating writers. But I stopped laughing when I remembered that it’s almost Christmas and I’m about to visit friends and family I haven’t seen for ages, and they are all going to take one look at me and wonder how I managed to mangle my bangs so badly without even hiding my eyebrows or wrinkles.
I tried tucking it behind my ears — worse. I tried a pony tail –much worse. I tried a hairband — truly moronic. And of course I snipped at the bangs hoping they might morph into beauty — not.
Finally I hit upon a solution: my husband’s hair gel. Ah, back to normal (with a whole hour wasted!).
Now you can barely tell that I have bangs. True, my forehead looks extremely wrinkled an my eyebrows look perpetually surprised, but at least I do not look like my youngest son cut my hair for free.
And hey, I came out of the whole thing with a stocking stuffer to add to my wish list: hair gel. Plus I milked the episode not only for its own waste of time, but for the additional procrastination value of writing about it on this blog.
A procrastination risk well taken, I’d say.
If you’ve ever done moronic things while trying to avoid writing your book, I’d love to hear about them.