Colourful

26 May 2005
Regis Hairstylists, Princes Street, Edinburgh

I've got colour on my hair, so I've got 45 minutes to sit and think. Sit and write. Sit and drink instant coffee (Blech! I asked for tea.). Sit and stare vacantly into the mirror. Sit and whatever. Just so long as I sit.

I'm tired. Sitting is good. I'm looking forward to tomorrow. The Highland Explorer. I can turn my brain off and on as needed. Castle Doune. Waterfalls. Lochs. Mountains. Stone circles. A whisky distillery.

It's not Skye, but I think it will serve its purpose in being as unlike the Calcutta experience as possible.

But then... It's a tour, which is of course a group thing. If I don't want to be part of a group, then why do I keep signing myself up for things that involve so much group togetherness? And If I do want to be part of a group, then why do I hate it so much when I am?

Whenever I find myself in a group, every part of me rebels. I kick and fight and struggle to be set free. Once I achieve my freedom, I spend a little bit of time on my own, ruing the day I ever joined myself to any group.

A few minutes/hours/days pass and suddenly, impulsively, for no discernible rhyme or reason, I run out and find a group to attach myself to.

And the whole process begins again.

Am I really still searching for some elusive community of people who will tolerate and even embrace my double standards, my whims, ambitions, apathy, strange passions, incomprehensibility, megalomania, my need to dominate all situations? What kind of community would that be? Why would I want any part of it?

I have a tendency to resent any team that would have me on it. That probably says something, doesn't it?

I wonder what colour my hair will be.