Misdirected Mourning

Today the goddess speaks about herself:
I am still hung up on the recent haircut. The one where I held up my fingers with this much space between them [ ], and the stylist cut this much hair off [ ________________ ]. I had really long hair.
I mean, I was only 8 inches away from my fanny. Now I have 'longish' hair -- above my freaking bra strap. (And, as low as that is these days, it isn't all THAT low).

I don't get these people! She said she understood about long hair. She said someone had once cut off too much of her hair. Whatever . . . What trip are these hair people on?

I am sad, sad, sad about my hair. Grandma died, but all I can think about is my hair. Is that demented, or what? Grandma would understand though. Just last month she was eating soup when she asked, "Is this for me to weave a rope to heaven?" as she held up a single strand of my hair.
Ooops . . .

Will I ever dig myself out of this grief? Only grandma will understand what I am really crying about at her funeral on Friday. She gets it. She was a goddess too.

May your grief be frivolous when frivolous is called for from, The Goddess of Everything. (Wishing you jewels in heaven, Grandma)