(This rant is about a year old, but I ran across it, and I figured you folks would like it.)
I want to say something profound about this. I know this is not a unique happening, but the fact that I am thinning at an overly-rapid rate at twenty-two gives me some amount of pause on the whole ‘just a natural part of aging’ affair. I’m not alone in that, am I? (Not in the balding itself, but the consideration of the balding—Drat, I think I’m being more confusing than helpful: I’ll try again…)
I’m trying to postulate something about the recession of my hair which seems relevant and-or prevalent to my situation and-or self. But it’s not coming to me. Granted the former relationship, unexpected pregnancy, family drama that ensued, and baby could be credited for stress-related ailments, but really the thinning pattern began when I started wearing those God-awful visors for Deli-inclined, sandwich-making food-service work, not all of which was at Subway thank you very much. My partner (not business, and not the same one who had the baby) says that the comings and goings of my hair thickness seem to coincide with stress levels, but she is being vastly supportive in the love-you-with-or-without-hair-and-still-think-you’re-a-sexy-beast capacity, and so isn’t working that hard to keep my hair around. Which makes for less pressure, which were it to be imposed would probably increase the hair-loss—And I’m rambling. Okay, once more…
See, the thing about balding (at 22)—which I’ve already said, I know, but it’s the most pivotal detail about this, yes? …Or no? I guess I have to give you the option. Regardless, here’s the point: the thinning and receding has been lately rapidly accelerating. And is that a bad thing? Well, that’s what I haven’t worked out yet. I mean, I have noticed that I’m more liked and respected the older people think I am, but maybe that’s not it—not just that at any rate. See, I’m at the beginning of what is sure to be a long drudgerous publishing process, my first one now that we’re at it, and I have to wonder if this is a fate thing. Hear me out: now, when I was small, in the six-years-old ballpark, I liked to imagine myself with a beard because I thought that that was how I would look in pictures on the backs of my book jackets—true stories. Well, the beard and mustache filled in famously before I was 16, just like I’d wanted them to, completing my face in the way I’d envisioned. And now, in retrospect, I seem to remember that in those same imaginings, those childish, happy, fanciful musings, that my mental-image of old-Mike also happened to sport a distinguished widow’s peak balding pattern, which… well-whaddya-know kinda looks like the one I’m starting now.
I just can’t tell if this is a careful-what-you-wish-for story, if it’s a sign that I shouldn’t try to prevent the bald, or if I should just be impressed at the mental fortitude and discipline that I must have had when shaping my own face. I can state with certainty that this rant is a fair example of the overuse of hyphenated modifiers for stylization.
Incidentally drudgerous is not a word yet, but I hope my writing will amend that.