vanity & hairbrushes

it occurred to me yesterday as i ran out the door to pick up onions (it was an emergency of sorts) that i hadn't looked in mirror all day, & was wearing torn yoga pants, a hoodie with a broken zipper & a ratty t-shirt announcing my particpation in the 2003 law school beer darts league. i haven't worn make-up in ages, & am honestly pretty happy in my jeans & t-shirt uniform (augmented by the occasional sweats or yoga pants). i'm oddly content in my appearance, or lack thereof. i no longer feel super pudgy (altho i'm still going to work on those last 10lbs) & i'm at peace with my stretch marks & big(ger) boobs.
i haven't brushed my hair in weeks. actually, it's been so many weeks that it's pry more like months. i do own a hairbrush, somewhere. it's just too much trouble to find it. i wash, air dry & finger comb, followed usually by a ponytail or knot of some kind. & my hair is actually the feature i'd say i'm most vain about. (altho you'd never guess based on how i wear it, i suppose.) i didn't even bother to break out a hair brush when we went out on a couple grown-ups-only nights in august.

the last time i went on a months-long anti-hairbrush anti-mirror campaign, i was 21 & living in italy, & in hindsight, it was probably the last time i was really happy & confident in myself. i'm not sure what the connection is for me between confidence & not brushing my hair, but it exists. i'll leave the psychology to some one else, & just say that i think i'm there again. i'm happy. really, genuinely, happy.
i may throw out that hairbrush.