It's funny how my dreads seem to follow the events going on in my life on a constant basis. Even their texture matches my personality. Some of them are wimpy and soft. No matter how much rolling and tearing I give them, they stay soft and cuddly. It's like they want to just curl up in my hand all day to be happy. Others are starting to get rock hard in random spots. They're conforming to what I want them to do, how round they should be, how neat they should be. Much like myself, they're a combination of cuddly love and jaded memories, and attempted organization amongst chaos. Sometimes people don't understand how I can be so involved in my hair, but my dreads are like a walking diary. They remind me of the things I've been through since they formed 6 months ago, whether it was the 3 surgeries i had in the summer, when they were neglected after a car accident, the way my one prof gets so excited when I wear "dreadtails", or the way it feels when my boy pets them. They aren't just part of a hair style. They're part of who I am inside and out, perfect and flawed.