The other day my friend Heather pointed out that in every picture of me my hair appears to be in a different mood. This intrigued me, after I got done laughing. I have always said that my hair seems to have a mind of its own, so let's explore its many personalities:
(Caution, graphic images to follow)
On this particular day, my hair felt frazzled.
Life is so full of responsibilities, and sometimes it just can't keep up.
(It may also have been considering growing a garden of vines,
or keeping an aquarium of snakes.)
Then there are the straggling days.
Not quite on top of the game, but not quite so behind.
Lazy might sufficiently describe it's mood--it doesn't seem to care.
There are more confident days.
Days where it is self-assured, willing to be a bit on the edge of normal because it knows it has something to say. It marches to the beat of its own drummer, but that is OK. It values itself.
Because it knows it is capable of those kinds of days, it allows itself some freedom to just be. There is no plan here. Carefree, whimsical, lovin' life.
It should, however, keep in mind that there is always the potential for days like this:
WOW.
(I believe it thinks it can fly....)
On these schizophrenic kind of days, you can cut the tension with a knife.
(You could also probably cut through my hair like you're cutting through cheesecake--it is just that thick.)
Maybe it is aware of how far it is possible to fall (or expand), because on occasion it allows me to have a minimal sort of control. While still asserting itself by the random curl that just will not be contained, on some days we live in companionable ease.
And sometimes I get the distinct sense that it feels protective of me, as if it is suggesting that I should be careful of how much I let others see. It wants to know that you, the viewer, are deserving of a gaze into my eyes. It does not approve of full frontal eye gazing.
Although...
...it may just be saying "I will go whither and whether I choose".
(Is this evidence of an ornery side? Some would say it is being most like me on days like this...)
There do seem to be days where we are in sync with each other.
Case in point:
Confusion.
Running on adrenaline only.
(You may not know me enough to tell it, but when the above picture was taken I was truly exhausted...)
We also share a reverence for spiritual things.
(Remember Moses? I think here we are re-enacting the burning bush.)
Now, please do not misunderstand me. On the rare occasion when my hair is forced into compliance by a skilled technician (ie., my hairdresser), I have a hard time recognizing myself. I walk around looking into mirrors and car windows saying "Who
is that person?!"
And were it not a bit boisterous, I would not be able to mangle it up on special occasions with little to no effort and still achieve an elegant result.
It is vivacious. A piece of artwork in motion.
And it enjoys a bit of romance.
Who wouldn't mind being associated with these types of things?
On some ordinary days it quite pleasantly and gracefully allows me a bit of elegance as well,
and some days it is just downright cooperative:
I am always humbly grateful on days such as these.
Of course, there are days when it experiences its own dose of humility:
Grateful for the person who invented bobby pins and headscarves, and for my commitment to our high maintenance relationship.
In the end, I suppose we are well-suited to each other. I am, it turns out, awfully attached.
and then went after the main course. I chose this hot sausage sandwich because I felt that I would leave feeling not quite happy with my fair experience if I chose something else. I think I was correct in my assessment, as I was thoroughly satisfied by it's spicy peppery goodness.
We finished off our evening sharing some monkey bread (which was a good idea, both in that it was delicious, and in that there's no way we could have eaten a whole one on our own). 
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