Somewhere around the middle of July, one night, whilst doing my ritualistic touch-up of my roots (don't even ask me what my natural colour is, I haven't seen it since I was 16) I was overcome with the feeling of restlessness, and within eight seconds, decided that my hair needed to lose some length IMMEDIATELY, and so, being the ever impulsive, stereotypical, death-defying, reckless, Gemini – I took a pair of scissors to it, and lopped of a few inches, to a much more defined long-bob.
It really was only a few inches, but it made the world of difference. And now I look back at me from early July, to me in late July, I feel like a different person. It's funny, and wonderful, how hair can do that.
I woudln't recommend hacking away at your own hair unless you know you have the stomach to handle the consequences if this bathroom-edition of Russian Roulette goes bad, and you end up with a bit of a disaster. But my hair is thick and straight, and as I seldom believe in brushing it, and there's approximately half a can of dry shampoo in it at any time, making it somewhere between Kate Bush and Robert Smith in terms of birds-nest-dishevelment, I figure that if it's a bit uneven and clumsy (it is), no one will notice (they haven't).
Besides. It's just hair. You cut it. It grows back. You dye it. It fades. It grows out. It's magic like that!