People have taken this isolating time during the pandemic, to pick up an old hobby or to learn something new. My social feeds are filled with gorgeous knit and crocheted goods, incredible home DIY's, and, befitting the time, eclectic mask styles. Some are learning new languages and others starting businesses. I have also taken this opportunity to return to a neglected passion. I have started to work on the book that I have been talking about forever. You know, just becoming an author in my spare time. No big deal. Okay, that's not exactly what it's like. More like barfing out a bunch of words, hoping they make some kind of sense and telling myself I will clean it all up later. Just spewing story chunks all over the place. It's a mess, but it's a start. I am also working on a new skill. It has been intimidating. Down right scary, at times. I am learning to use a curling iron. I mean, a curling wand.
The curling iron that I owned, was one that my mom had given me a long time ago. It had a barrel and a clasp and travelled with me from my first apartment to the house that I live in now. Through all of those years, I think I used it 4 times. Or, attempted to use it, I should say? It's flashing red light taunted me and it's stubborn handle caused my thumb to cramp, before I even made it half way through. The curls were all different sizes and states of curliness. It was total curl chaos. You would think that the asymmetry would make it look natural. Instead, it looked lopsided and a hot mess. Then...wait for it....I turned my head upside down and coated those riotous ringlets in hairspray. That was probably as old as the curling iron. When I flipped my hair back-up and saw my handiwork, well let's just say that bun I had been sporting my whole life swooped in to save the day. Well, except my sore thumb.
But I am older now. Wiser. And I have more time because of this pandemic. When I got my hair cut recently, my hair stylist used a new looking curling iron. Actually, I believe it is called a curling wand. The barrel was thicker near the handle and tapered out at the end. There was no clasp. No thumb destroyer. She was able to give me a natural, beachy looking curl in a few mere minutes. I figured that maybe it was time to get myself a curling wand and see if I could make the magic happen.
I should have taken heed, when my new beauty device came with a glove. It literally came with an ove glove. To curl my hair. And then I figured out why the wand came with an ove glove. It's because it heats to the temperature of the deepest depths of hell. As the glove was awkward, I did my first few attempts without it. My fingers felt the wrath of that hellfire, but persist I did. Well, until that rod of raging fire brushed the side of my face. The touch was so brief, I couldn't even be sure that contact was made. Except for the 2inch burn that appeared on my right cheek. What kind of torture device is this? Maybe I just need to order the ove mask.
I am not a quitter. I am going to learn how to use this wand of eternal inferno, without maiming myself. I am just taking a little break. Directing my energy on the plot puking. Letting my wounds heal. I will master the curling iron. Curling wand. Torture device. Whatever.
Does Mommy need to lose her shit?
Not this week.