So I am staying at my grandmothers once again. It’s a bitch to leave when your 17 and return when your 22. It’s all good though because it’s a place to lay my head. However yesterday I was dozing off on the couch watching some western with my grandfather and I woke to find my grandmother and the hairbrush of doom combing my hair. It had been seven days since I had brushed my hair. It had started to tangle; it was a wonderful mess of thick brown hair. Now, half my head was brushed, half my head was messy. Slightly agitated I got ready for work not saying anything but listening to my grandmother tell me that she will continue to brush my hair whenever she can. I go into work and upon sitting on my upside bucket bitching to myself about customers and their stupid questions I noticed this plastic container full of little combs. Before I knew it I was in front of this small mirror backcombing a section of hair. SO…yeah…I am three dreads into it and I am still not going to brush the rest but if my grandmother wants to play this game she will quickly see that I know the rules inside and out. As much as I yearn for natural dreads I refuse to sleep with one eye opening looking for this crazy Cajun woman and her brush! I am backcombing them one by one when I am at work especially on my graveyard shift nights when I get 6 hours to do nothing. Shit sucks but damn its life and I am sooooo use to it. I will post beginning photos of gas station backcombing dread fun in a few days. I'm leave yall with a 2am photo of my father and I. Goodnight and good morning.