And so after a long weekend of puking, and other unmentionable things, I am feeling much better and perhaps...revived. Often it is not so after a bout of illness that one feels this way. So I took the oppotunity, even with a slightly queasy stomach, to get my haircut. Now, I am not a slave to beauty. A mistress of it, perhaps. I play the field like a mad scientitist-hockey player on steroids, cutting and coloring, caring and forgetting as I choose. One thing I fo care about however is time.
I used to, when it seemed more crucial, to judge my life in increments of twenty minutes. If one thing took twenty minutes it was worth doing. If it took less than twenty minutes, it was optional, and I knew that I would be involved in the project for longer than twenty minutes, I carefully gauged how many increments of twenty-minute-time-modules that project would take and decided whether or not it was worthy. For example. Walking at a moderate pace from my apartment to campus in the winter (approx. 1.5 miles from my trusty Honda spedometer) took about twenty minutes. My hair, to dry and style plus makeup and whatever other fixins I could add, twenty minutes. Now, when getting my hair CUT...lordy, it would often take up to two hours! And you all know that this is considered normal, that many women consider this pampering. But the on and on drone of a barbershop vingette while washing, cutting and styling my hair like it was chellenging Mt. Whatever for tallest spot in the world is not my idea of a good afternoon.
However, today was a glorious day. I sat, she cut, I left. So peaceful! After a short explanation that, yes I wanted it exactly the same, just shorter, often around these parts called "a trim" I left with pretty much that. No commentary on how I could improve my morning "routine" or pitiful sales pitches for products that I would never use.
I urge you all to seek this experience if you haven't found it yet. It's pure heaven.