I’m starting to think that maybe I’m overdoing it on the essential oils. And I know, like…whoa. Me, saying anything that would suggest that I’m using any less essential oils. But it’s costing me a lot, and I guess you could say that the hour-and-a-half that I spent bathing my follicles in a mixture of mint tea leaves, aloe vera, cannabis oil and ginseng extract might be better used elsewhere. Like, on writing songs…ooh, maybe SONGS about essential oils!
Also, my hair is falling out. Only a little bit, but this isn’t what essential oils are supposed to do, and so I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worrying. I might have to…
Ugh…give me a minute.
I might have to…have to…blork…go to a hairdresser. Yeah, like, I know. I gasped out loud when that revelation struck me. I have fellow bohemian allies who have their guilty little salons. A nice little hair salon in St James’ Place for Esmerelda, even though she swears they use eucalyptus shampoo only and they play whale song while they cut hair. Mm-hmm, a likely story from Esmerelda. Then there’s Jacqui, who has crossed her heart and hoped to die defending the supposed fact that her hair stylist makes all her own products from Sri Lankan tea leaves and uses a hair-cutting poncho sewn together from the freely-given skin of local snakes.
That’s all well and good, but I’ve never seen a hairdresser that’s quite lived up to my standards. Their products are effective…but are they kind? Do they resonate with the universe? Are they made from all-natural ingredients?
Such is my quest. I know there are people out there capable of being kind to the planet, and if there is one such hair stylist, Melbourne is where I will find them. I will find them, and I will ask them if they have a way of restoring hair with roughly the texture of corn that’s been baking in the sun for weeks on end.