Silent bob

 Going to the hair-dresser throws up some weird stuff for me. I really struggle with small talk, which is part of my social anxiety. 

My bf thinks I have some level of autism, which I have doubts about. In some ways, it would be a relief to think that, because then it would mean I don't have to feel guilty because I'm not trying hard enough. I feel like social anxiety is something I should be able to overcome and when it doesn't seem to get much better or I have a bad day, then it's just me being rubbish and awkward. A diagnosis would seem to offer a break from that, because while there are strategies a person can use to manage better, if you're neurodiverse, you're neurodiverse, and it's not a question of "getting over it" by putting enough effort in. But I dunno, I feel like it's a "popular" diagnosis and for people to claim it sometimes seems like appropriation. While when I do those online questionnaires about it I come out as likely, I wonder who wouldn't. 

Anyway, today the social anxiety was looming large - I guess partly sparked by having ducked phoning them to let them know T wouldn't be attending his appointment as unwell. In fairness, I only knew the night before - but really I could have called their answering machine, and that would have been better. Why didn't I do that? Phoning them first thing to let them know seemed too late and not worth it, and then I was nervous about going myself in case they were cross about it. But they were fine. 

I also got the time slightly wrong and turned up early so was sort of adding up minor stresses about it - all entirely of my own making - could have checked the appointment card before leaving, even thought I should, but did not. 

It's funny how I react to things - head massage is fine, but occasionally feels like my head is a big pimple they're trying to pop - they ask me if the pressure is OK, and I say yes. Mostly it is, sometimes it's nice, sometimes it's head-pimple-time.

Is the water too hot? Sometimes. Will I say? I will not. 

And when they ask me about using the massage chair function, I always say no, because it feels sort of wrong, indecent(?) to have a massage in public. What is going on there?! Maybe I'd like it. Why am I so horrified by the idea? I think it's the prospect I might enjoy it that worries me most, to be honest.

When the lady beside me accepts a hand massage, I'm a bit nonplussed and repulsed by it - why would you want that? 

People, well, women really, sometimes talk excitedly about spa days and "pampering", and it feels like the last thing I would want. 

And I'm not sure what is at root here. There's my personal discomfort about having someone in the service position, I think - some sort of idea of hierarchy of the Indulged and the wage slave, I guess? And I have a kind of horror of touching strangers, even in these perfectly socially acceptable, everyday ways. Hmm. I presume that the people who go into jobs such as hairdressing, manicure, massage etc largely do not share that horror. I hope not, anyway. 

There's a bit of a puritanical thread, something about vanity and indolence. I feel like it might be coming from my granny, but I don't know - she gets a lot of blame for stuff. 

Mum never really wore much make-up - I think she'd have foundation and mascara maybe - but she was in a very physical job, very male-dominated, so it was just not practical, and it was always jeans and jumpers, and like country-living and horses and such for me growing up. Which it's not impossible to combine make-up and fashion into, but I never was much interested. 

I remember playing with make-up with my cousin and I was getting her to try terrible combinations of colours on herself, and then she did me; I was quite shocked and hurt when she had done awful make-up on me in return. Which is entirely unreasonable, looking back!

My whole life, make-up has just been for special occasions and it feels weird on my face if I do wear it. I'd say about 50% of the times I do put it on, I end up wiping it all off again. 

And I don't really like to spend much time looking at myself in mirrors - I do it, and feel a tiny bit guilty and like someone might catch me at it. Perpetually faintly embarrassed someone might see me checking myself out! Thus, sitting in front of a big mirror at a salon for ages feels weird and uncomfortable. 

And the general hubbub of chatter and blowers - it feels vertiginous and so very alien.

When it was finished, I was relieved: a few times I had considered getting up and leaving partway through. It's not always like this - I must remember that so I don't stop going. Although that vertiginous feeling is a regular feature. 

I tip reasonably well in recompense for being slightly odd.