I have the weirdest hair: all the "normal" reds, like auburn, copper, strawberry, and henna-based look brassy or kind of pink on me. Which I cannot explain. I have (oddly shaded, impossible to get from a bottle, sort of mousy) reddish brown hair if I don't dye it, so I don't understand exactly what the problem is. Or maybe I do; come to think of it, my natural "reddish" is a fairly deep red, as long as it's not exposed to the sun, which will turn it almost blond and kind of brassy. I know! This is all very weird. I think I might have inherited all the hair colors from the last three generations of my family on both sides; nothing else could explain it.
I mean, I have just enough of a natural wave to my hair to rule out the idea of it being "straight", but not enough that anyone would think it's naturally very wavy. Unless I scrunch it, even the least bit, then poof, it's like, very wavy. If I keep it shorter and layer it right, I can scrunch it with just water and hair spray into natural-looking, almost spiralish curls. And the fact that it looks normally thick, but feels even thicker and is almost impossible to brush or get through with combs or implements of any sort (snags, knots, and general unruliness have apparently ensued since my toddlerhood: I brush it no more than six times a year for that reason alone, and only because at that point I'm desperate to get the knots out and to simultaneously pretend my hair is straight simply because I've combed it into something resembling real straightness) is beyond explanation, but also true. I gave up trying to figure any of it out a long time ago.
So anyway, as I was saying...classic red of any hue has always looked pretty bad on me. And I've tried ALL the classic reds (and browns, blacks and blondes; I've done it all except the pink, purple and blue in the title - my hair has actually been green twice through no direct fault of my own, so I can't cop to never having it uh, sort of moss-colored). So I picked up burgundy yesterday - a nice cheap bottle of Colorsilk (it over-dyes like crazy which, if your hair is as porous as mine, washes out all over the place, turning your shower, towel and anything else it touches pink even after 3 shampoos and rinses - so maybe don't try this at home, kiddies) - and I have to say, seriously, I love it.
I only bought it out of 1) desperation - I'm tired of the brown-blacks I've been wearing all winter because they look so harsh in the warmer months, and 2) defiance - burgundy was the closest I could get to a fuck-the-world color and still keep my fairly normal job and get other fairly normal jobs in the future. I've seen burgundy on plenty of other women - in person, in all sorts of lighting, indoors and out - and have never, ever thought it looked good, not even once, so the fact that I like it on me just proves everything about me from my natural hair color to my skin tone, is really, factually just plain fucking weird. It looks that good, just so much better than any other shade of red.
Which is all my long way of saying that some of you do know, to a tiny extent, and most of you don't want to know, not to any extent, what I was doing right now a year ago. I've never written about it and don't know if I should but I'm tired of holding it in. My mom had been self-shocked out of a near-coma by a sudden failure to take her next breath, and her next breath, and her next, so she was moaning and gasping the words, "I can't breathe" and pointing to her mouth while gurgling and choking, so unfortunately the hospice nurses ventilated her. With my permission. It was half-assed sort of my idea; they suggested it but I was like, OK, I guess...I know she hates it, but just go ahead and do it, and may God help us all.
She really hated being ventilated, so this time she pushed the tube away with actual force, started crying and shaking her head, then suddenly propped herself up on her knees, straight up with perfect posture, and proceeded to walk all over her bed like that really fast while yelling, "Help me" over and over again in the most awful, strangled, yet still deep and booming voice for the next ten or so minutes. No one could calm her down or make her stop moving. Least of all me, because the first stupid thing I said was, "Mom! Stop! Your stitches!" which she paid no attention to at all. She just kept yelling at me, and at all of us, to help her.
The second stupid thing I said was, "Mom, we are helping you! We're trying to help you! Stop! Chill!!!" That did it. She stopped cold and did not seem to so much as blink for an entire minute, frozen as still as a mouse on her knees, staring at me, mouth wide open in shock. Then she gave me an eye roll that could have slayed twenty people at once and turned her attention to the nurses as she begged them to help her. From that moment on she flat-out, blatantly ignored me, no matter what I said or how hard I tried to get her attention after that.
Within another hour or so she fell into a coma that she'd never come out of. I had nightmares about her yelling, "Help me" while racing around on her knees and cutting me dead with that look of hers, and what felt like actual PTSD that would make me cry day and night at the merest, most superficial thought of it for the next six months. I never got to say anything that was kind enough, or to her mind helpful enough, while she was still alive enough to hear it. And I never got to say anything else she wanted to hear while she was still conscious enough to respond to it. Those were the last words her fully responsive mind ever heard from me, and the last conscious look I ever got from her in return was one of apparent contempt and dismissal.
She was dead about twenty hours from now. Of course I kept watch last year, unable to sleep for those two days, and am keeping watch again now, staying up until dawn last night and again, maybe, though I kind of hope not, tonight. There's something about it that wires me, not in a feel-good or an 'up' way, but in an it-seems-I've-been-force-fed-crack-in-my-s
It's been a problem on and off since she died, and usually goes on for two or three days before a work schedule or some other external circumstance forces me to resolve it. But it always bites me in the ass again, usually by the next month or so. I don't know what to do about it or if I should do anything. I know it's because of something I can't explain about losing her, and I was always a night owl anyway, just not quite this bad.
I miss her. I can't tell you how fast time goes by, how it feels like I lost her just yesterday, nor how it doesn't feel like she died, more like I simply misplaced her and just have to track her down properly in order to make everything alright again, and I cannot even begin to describe my disappointment at not being able to tell her I got back with my first love, who she mostly adored and who she thought at one time I should've married (I'm almost relieved to say I don't know if she'd think I should marry him now, given how much he seems to have changed, but the thought of him being so important to me and being back in my life - after almost 25 years, which is almost unbelievable - would have initially shocked and awed her without a doubt, regardless of present circumstances).
I can't tell you how many times a day I go from general missing-her to a damn-I-wish-you-were-here-right-now-to-s