an unrelated thing

I'm listening to my ever-present iTunes and at the moment, They Might Be Giants' song Unrelated Thing (from their album John Henry) is playing.
And I'm thinking of an unrelated thing, that's been bugging me for a little while. I tend to sit on my bed while writing, and at the moment that's what I'm doing-- actually writing the scene where the heroine gives birth, which is a novel thing to be writing about, given my unadulterated fandom of the birth-control pill (not like i get to fornicate much, but, you know, it's the principle of the thing)...
Anyhow, the light quality from the window directly behind me, a north-facing window (which is significant, as northern-exposure light is much subtler and freer of color than light from other directions, and tends to be unchanging throughout the day, which is why sculptors' and painters' studios tend to have north-facing windows), is just perfect for contemplating the ends of one's own hair. (Oh, you thought this was something deep? No.)
I have very long hair, though it's less long than it was-- I got it "trimmed" for Dave's dad's funeral last May, and the girl took eight inches off it in the name of getting rid of dead ends. Which I endorse, but I still miss occasionally sitting on it and such foolishness. It was exceptionally long then, and now it's just, well, kinda long. It is still down to my waist, but that's it.
I've been blonde since birth, though i started out strawberry-blonde and faded to towheaded by the time I was six months old, and have always since then wanted red hair.
But in this nice northern light, I can see that I have a lot more darker hairs mixed in with the blonde now. (It darkened from tow to normal honey-blonde when I was about five, and has stayed pretty consistent since then.)
My mother was blonde into her late teens (and with help from a bottle, into her mid-twenties), but her hair darkened to a medium mousy-brown-red that I've never really cared for. (She gets it highlighted now and it looks pretty good, actually, but still. Maintenance, y'know?) My father had blonde hair until he was around 25; now his hair is nearly black. My two younger sisters both were blonde children, but by now Fiona, 21, is on the verge between sandy-dishwater blonde and light brown when she's not dyeing it something or other, and Ann (18)'s hair is a beautiful dark gold (getting darker by the year) when it's not Cornell-Pride red. I've always been pleased that my hair stayed blonde, because it's pretty much the only thing I have to be vain about. (My sisters are all slender and leggy and busty and what-have-you, and I'm short and have stumpy legs. Though I do have fabulously oversized boobs, which are, well, even if not particularly attractive, are at least an accomplishment of sorts.)
(My older sister was born with nearly-black hair and to this day her hair is a lovely dark brown with red highlights, and it curls just a bit at the ends. Mom doesn't know where she came from, but she's got Dad's eyes and chin and Mom does remember giving birth to her...)

Anyway, I think my hair's getting darker now and I'm bummed. If it turns brown I'll have to get it cut short-- even Dave, who knows nothing about fashion, said so. Having extravagantly long hair doesn't work if it's not a particularly prepossessing color. And everyone knows you have to actually style short hair. Alternately, I'd have to dye it, and I don't know the first thing about taking care of hair at all.

Sigh.

So, back to work now. I just thought I'd talk about an entirely unrelated thing for a short while. It's my equivalent of getting out of the house.

But I'd like to state for the record: it's not true that blondes have more fun. It's just that the sort of brunettes who are likely to go for the bottle are the type of person who has more fun than the ones who don't go for the bottle. As in so many things.

Though, blondes get heckled far more while attempting to walk down a street in a Mediterranean country.