I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
So the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're going through
This is the song that went through my head when I stood in front of the mirror this evening wondering how things would end up.
No we aren't at a major intersection in our lives, and I had no deep philosophical thoughts on my mind. But I was standing there staring at myself with scissors in hand thinking, my hair needs a trim.
Four inches seemed like a good trim to me. Enough to feel like I cut my hair, but long enough to wear a pony tail.
Then it happened.
You know. I think those kids I spit on just came along and decided to change things.
So I reverted to my typical "I need a change" most and cut the hair short. Not boy short, but chin length bob short. I would take a picture, but I can hear the rumblings of my second born's rear, so I know my time here is numbered.
*I also applied mousse (for the first time in years, ha).
** Oh, and I saw a white hair. And not a 'I fit in one.' This bugger was shorter, curlier and sticking straight up in the part. I think that's a sign of old people white hair. I think. Or maybe it's stress hairs that change texture.
*** Must research this.
**** Must stop this thing with the starred notes. But I have to note. The best part about today, I got a shower.