The Mind-Hair Connection

If you can't tell, I've been restless lately.
The kind of restless that makes me spend inordinate amounts of my time amusing myself and letting my hair go wild in an effort to offend as many people as possible. This is ironic because the person I offend most by doing this is myself, as I can't stand the feeling of wearing what feels like a blanket of wild, curly sheep hair hanging in my face. I have found that when I wear my hair down I only manage to procure the effect of looking homeless-ly unkempt, channeling a '90's version of Nicole Kidman's hair, looking not even nominally attractive as I do it.

Evidence #1

Also, scrunching my nose doesn't help my face any. I see that now.
 
My hair is a continuous source of aggravation in my life. And now that I've brought it  up I find it difficult to stem the flow of complaints it inevitably causes me to deliver. I have forever envied the voluptuous, silky hair you so effortlessly grow on your head. It's so fuss-free as to be sinful: the less you wash it, the better it looks.
Thinking that perhaps the frizz and general unmanageability of my hair was due to all of the unpronounceable ingredients and chemicals placed in shampoos and hair products now a days, I attempted a product-free, "No-Poo" method of hair care which was almost as disastrous as the recent oil spill in the Gulf.

Remember this?

The end result is that I not only feel restless (and crazy), I look it. 
Life is so unfair.