Chopping up my glory

I have this strong conviction that my hair is my glory as a woman. I've been holding onto that glory for a long time. I chopped it off once--before my trip when I was 17. And I've been in the process of growing it out ever since. Why? Ugh...here's the truth: for my wedding.
Long hair is the epitome of femininity. Short hair is a cause for lesbian remarks. The whole system is...frustrating.
A lot of you know I've ALWAYS wanted to shave my head---and well, I'm not going THAT far yet, I am cutting off all my hair.
Look at it:

It's too long--and it's always in my face and I don't know what to do with it. I feel like Cousin It.
So tomorrow...

Yes...tomorrow.


Along the lines of this whole self-discovery kick I'm on, which encompasses the marriage, or lackthereof issue, I feel like it's time to say goodbye to marriage. Not like it won't ever happen--but to move on with my life. Damnit, I want short hair, and the possibility of marriage in the next year isn't going to stop me!
What a stupid concept, eh?

I don't want to cut my hair.
Why not?
Well, because I might be getting married.
Oh, to who?
No one in particular. I just might be.
Oh. Soon?
Yeah. You know, just keeping my options open.
Sure. But you're not seeing anyone?
No. In fact, there isn't a single person on this earth that I know of to marry.
Uh huh.
Yeah. So that's why I can't cut my hair.
Because you might get married.
Yes. Exactly.

It makes me shake my head too. Shake my head in disbelief and wonderment.
I am me and I'm going to live me.
Yes, I said I'm going to live me.

And heck, if the hair-dresser screws up, I'm shaving it. Just give me a good reason, mang, and I will do it.

Lastly---I watch a gay made-for-tv movie about this balletrina who battles anorexia and bulemia. The purpose of the movie is to educate us on the aforementioned eating disorders and to scare others into not making the same mistake. Funny thing is, I spent most of the movie thinking, oh, wow she's got great legs. I wonder if I can make myself throw up. Hm...there's a thought. Anorexia, you say? I think you're onto something!
Backwards. Or, Sdrawkcab.