Finding Junk In A Salon

You can just call me Junk. I am not beautiful, but an unsightly, retired hussy. I project a feeling of uneasiness with my speech problems and outlandish opinions. Bigger than attending a conservative private school, winning nation-wide writing contests, and attending a haughty high school, I am doing the ultimate. I am going to the Brown Aveda beauty school. It's one of the best in the world. I will stay with you for these next 10 months, through the trials and tribulations. The hard training, conquering venustraphobia and defining myself will push me down everyday, but with writing, you can't flummox.
November 3rd will mark a very important day. I will begin attending the Aveda Brown beauty institute (the one located in Mentor, Ohio). It is one of the best beauty schools in the world and this opportunity only comes once.
I am enrolled in the cosmetology program, which will educate me in the areas of hair, nail and skin care.
More specifically, Ill be learning plant aroma logy, state rules and regulations, hair styling (wet styling, pin curling, updos, blow drying, irons, hair extensions, etc.), hair coloring (color theory, corrective coloring, multidimensional coloring, foiling, bleaching, tinting, etc.), Chemical hair relaxing (having ALL knowledge of relaxing hair, application, etc.), Shampooing and conditioing for all hair situations, Perms (history of perming, pre perm analysis, rod selection, etc.), Hair Cutting (use of scissors, razors, clippers, etc.), Skin Care (histology, facials, cleansing, skin disorders, etc.), Make-Up (tools, corrective make-up, different looks, etc.), Nail Care (manicures, pedicures, nail extensions, massage techniques for hands and feet, etc.) and the cirriculum doesn't end there. It would take all day to copy down every piece of knowledge I am expected to obtain.
I want to make people feel dazzling. I hear too many featherweight sixteen year old ladies referring to themselves as "fat". I witness girls barely into puberty picking at their hair and fussing over how big their boobs are supposed to get. It makes me sad.
When I was four years old, I could barely speak, but I could read and I had these insightful, deep brown eyes. My mother thought I was a model.
So it began. I modeled for childrens companies and lights were flashed in my face for the next ten years.
But my life took a turn. The doctor informed my parents that I was going to be petite. Four feet and eleven inches tall. I also wasn't bone thin like a model. It was also stated that I didnt have the face for modeling. It broke hearts. So I stopped eating in hopes to gain a newer contract.
I became ill over the course of 5 months (a good chunk of my 8th grade year). I have put that part of my life to the side.
I still struggle with image sometimes. I am learning to love my body more and more. I want to lead people down a path, one where they will realize that they are beautiful and important (I don't mean to sound like a fucking Halmark card or anything).
I will update you about my researching and progress but as soon as November 3rd rolls around, I'll be scrawling to you daily.

“My mama always used to tell me: 'If you can't find somethin' to live for, you best find somethin' to die for.”-Tupac

-M. Junk