Bad days exist, with cause or without. Today I felt a gloomy little cloud above my head. He was as gray as the cobblestones beneath my sandals. I am walking in over seventy-degree weather in Florence, Italy. People are out, laughing and chatting and eating wonderful food outside accompanied by a glass of wine. Why aren’t I smiling?
A few days ago a hairdresser around the block decided my hair needed more than the trim I asked for. Today I walked around this beautiful city with lopsided hair. I pinned it up so no one could tell. But when it’s a bad hair cut it doesn’t matter how you try to hide it, you know it’s bad, even if nobody else notices.
It’s not just the hair. Perhaps it’s a bit of homesickness, but I don’t like to admit it to many people. I came here to seek change and adventure, not to long for the same old thing. I do, however, miss my old chopped locks.
I walk home thinking my depressing attitude could strike a pigeon dead out of the sky. The guys who usually try to sell me selfie sticks didn’t even offer as I passed them by. I felt alone with the Red Hot Chili Peppers blasting in my ear and my suckish drawing from art class. It’s of a crooked face, but at least it’s not as crooked as my hair.
I am curled up bed with my headphones trying to binge watch Parks and Rec and hoping that I cheer up before my trip to Germany tomorrow evening. It’s Beer Fest, and I’ll have to braid my warped hair to match my dirndl skirt. I know what you’re thinking, “Poor girl, traveling the world and drinking beer, what a hard life.”
Well you know what? Sometimes it’s a bad day without reason. Sometimes a little steam needs to be let out of a cool pot. And when you’re hair looks like something out of a horror film, blog about it and call it a night.