Cutting Your Own Hair

Is a dangerous proposition...but has the potential to be very rewarding.
Every morning, after the shower, I rub my head with a lovely towel and attempt to shove my hair into some semblance of order. It's not that my hair is wildly uncontrollable. But it has been quite a while since it was cut...outside of my home. For a while, Natasha was cutting my hair...and did a damn fine job, I might add. The problem was me. I couldn't sit in our IKEA kitchen chair for more than about forty minutes at a time. And Natasha did a good job, which took some time. So, after enough of my itchiness, she decided it was time for me to deal with my hair. So I would get out of the shower, and take out the scissors, and chop off whatever seemed to stick out in a bad way. I haven't had many problems with the beard or the sideburns, or around the ears. I can keep those neat without any severe accidents. The occasional notch above the ear. I have been able to trim the sides of my head without any huge problem. At times, the sides can bounce up a little bit, making my haircut resemble a middle-school-style bowl-cut, but for the most part, I've been happy with my work on the sides. The front is interesting. My hair is longish, so I've got some curl to the bangs-portion of my hair. I've had some mild success with that. Here is the problem: I can't see behind myself. I have no idea what's going on back there. Sometimes, I just snip randomnly, when a bunch of hair sticks crazily out after the shower, but I have no idea what kind of progress I'm making over there. The bottom of the back is also a challenge. I think things are pretty uneven back there, but I'll never know. In any event, I got a complement from a mustached-man recently. When informed that I was cutting my own hair he went so far as to tell me I was doing quite a good job. No, he really meant that. Hooray.