i need a haircut

every month and a half or so, I need a haircut. I'm not really sure why, but after a while the ends of a person's hair becomes 'dead' and no longer shiny or viable. why does this happen? its not like I have different hair, or that it is no longer attached to my head. after all, the hair just above these so-called 'dead ends' is healthy, so why does it cut off at a certain point? why cant your hair just grow and grow without needing to be trimmed?

when you think about something long enough, you don't understand what its about anymore. meaning, that you make it more complicated than it has to be. the adage of 'sleeping on it' is a real thing, I think. I know that every time I am worried about something, if I wait until the next morning to worry about it the problem doesn't seem as... well, problematic as before.

life makes you stressed. I'm surprised that I even have hair left on my head with work, school, family, drama, etc. meditation and deep-breathing techniques are supposed to be a help, so the professionals have told me. life is like one long string of problems with bright spots in-between; no amount of breathing or meditation will change this fact. its pretty sad to think about it... ive read somewhere that your heart has a finite number of beats.. so each minute you waste on being sad, or being in a place you don't want to be you are literally taking time off your own life.

its a global and human conundrum. one does things they don't want to do to counteract something they don't want to have. i.e.: working to make money -- work sucks but if you don't have money you cant have what you need to survive, such as food and shelter. I never want to go to bed, but I ultimately have to if I want to be able to function the next day. wasted time, but time everyone has to take out of their lives. ive read about this Italian family that has a genetic condition to which they are unable to sleep.. after awhile their brain is unable to sustain life any more, and they pass away. even so, no one truly knows what purpose sleep actually has.

me going to the hairdresser to get the ends of my hair cut off is a good half-hour spent about once every two months. and not going to the hairdresser out of defiance only exacerbates the problem. so I sit in a chair and let someone I don't know chop my once-beautiful hair off so it can become beautiful again. it doesn't make any sense. I don't think anything really does in life. we kind-of just bump around in an erratic manner until your heart stops beating.

It's 11:11 .. Make A Wish!

Every time I look at a clock which happens to be 11:11, (a.m. or p.m.)... I feel obligated to say "11:11, make a wish!" I always make a wish on 11:11, and I'm very superstitious about it. I also feel that if I do not notify those around me that it is a special time for wishing, then the EXACT and COMPLETELY EVIL opposite side of my wish will come true.

I also feel that if I look back at the clock, and the time is an even number, such as 11:12, or 11:14, chances are good that my wish will come true. If it's an odd number, like 11:13, or 11:15 (well, not 11:15, that's actually a quarter of an hour, which is an even number). A lot of times, my wish DOES come true, but I make sure to only ask for general things, such as being happy for the rest of the day, or things to go well at work. I'll take it anyway.

I feel that Karma is real -- even if that's the wrong way to describe it. You get what you give. Even if you only think it. Negativity begets negativity, in your mind and in those around you, in a subconscious kind of way. The whole point with 11:11 is that it is a special time of day for me. I have the opportunity to ask for anything I want -- to anything that may be listening. The catch is that I can't ask for anything selfish, and I have to share with everyone that the chance to make a wish has arrived.

Things have been going so well for me lately... I *knock on wood* think that my hard work and struggling has finally paid off.

On the back side of 20-"something"...

This is when the proverbial shit hits the fan.

What does a person do when they're staring down the barrel of the rest of their life? Be yourself, but conform... be ambitious, be hard-working--rip their fucking hearts out.

It's like standing on a precipice; on one side--the front end of 20-something--life seems long, leisurely, and the whole world is an oyster, so to speak. At the back-end of 20-something... life seems more rushed, the choices you make are more critical. No more mistakes; one slip could completely change the course of your life.

There's a frightful feeling to the unknown. I look at the next five years, and all I can see is a question mark... Not even a defined question-mark, it's fuzzy and foggy and I hope it is actually there, or my vision of the future would seem to be a dark hole--a void.

I've been pouring my heart and soul into making "something" of myself. Now define "something." It is a thing that is not specified or unknown. Why are people always using this word? Why would you want to describe "something" as myself? I already am "something;" unspecified and unknown. I could be a shadow in a dark room, no one ever sees me. No one takes what I have to say very seriously. That's where we roll back into the 20-"something."

That's the problem; that's what is so scary. What am I supposed to do if I'm at the age where I have to kick my career-plans into high gear, yet not quite at the age where anyone takes me seriously? Should I cut off my long hair and exchange it for a bob; change in my glitter nail polish for a nude pink? Maybe I can wrap everything that makes myself my own "something" into something "respectable." Now define "respectable." To be regarded by society to be good, proper, or correct. As far as I know, I am none of those things. Raised by a Boomer in a Millennial world; "cool" enough to have friends, yet different enough to only have five of them.

Now define "cool." Fashionably attractive and impressive. Define "different." Not the same as another or each other; unlike in form, nature, or quality. That pretty much describes it. How are people supposed to take me? I'm going to be at a job interview, sweating and praying that they pick me--me, above all the rest. That takes a "confidence" and "charisma" that I'm too young to possess. Too wet behind the ears. A rookie. A child. Define "confidence." Its the feeling or belief that one can rely on someone or something; firm trust. Define "charisma." To have compelling attractiveness or charm that can inspire devotion in others. Wow. That's intimidating stuff.

No one will shed a tear for me, I know this. No complaints here. Just "trepidation" about my performance; I "worry" about the course my life is taking. Now define "trepidation." Its a feeling of fear or agitation about something that may happen. Define "worry." To torment oneself with or suffer from disturbing thoughts; to fret.

I am on the back-end of 20-something. Im  Something Respectable. I'm Cool; I'm different. I have Confidence and Charisma coupled with Trepidation, and  Worry.

So there's nothing to be afraid of.

Today

Tomorrow. Yesterday. Ten days from Thursday.

What does it even matter?

Midnight, Noon, Three-Thirty, Twenty-Four-Hundred.

Who cares?

Life is measured in time, but time is measured in ache. In sweat. In pure, bittersweet, kick-yourself-in-the-ass fashion.

What makes us drive so hard to hit deadlines, to be places at certain times, to keep age as a number? In a word it must be control. In a world that is so lost, it gives one a sense of comfort to believe in time. In a Creator. In a Master Leader. Wherever.

The things we do to measure time, the lengths we go to in creating an accurate calendar, I think all are begging to answer the one question:

When will the time run out?

Streetlights through the Windowblinds

There are moments when I feel strange, like I'm in a different place. One of those moments is when the house is dark, the lights are off, and the light from the streetlamp is coming through the window-blinds. At night when I come home and the room is dark, and the blinds are open, I feel strange. I feel like something's wrong. Something's missing. Something is watching me that I can't see. Brings to mind dark and eerie visions like those of Stephen King novels.

It brings me visions like rain coming down on mountains covered in dark green trees. Like how the waves crash on rocky shores during a wind-storm. Like standing in the middle of the woods during an airless, crisp winter night--so cold there is no moisture in the air and your breath that fogs in front of your face is so dense you are standing within a cloud of your own creation.

It's hard to put a finger on it, why this special moment in time makes me feel so strange, or even why I happen to find this moment special. Could be the possible onset of madness. It could be that the slatted yellow light coming into my living room reminds me of a strange memory, one made during a time of confusion.

This makes it harder still to pinpoint exactly why that light makes me feel this way. There were plenty of times in my life where I have been confused, afraid, misplaced. Plenty of times where I didn't know where I was going, and couldn't remember where I had been. It strikes a chord within in me, tickles my brain, like I'm trying to remember something, but the memory was never there.

Irony is in the details.

It's a feeling we all get. The one that comes when you realize something is ironic. This feeling catapults you into the frame of mind that something isn't quite right about things--something is off. It brings visions of parallel places, where things actually make sense, and we're just living in one of the places that don't.

Youth is wasted on the youth. The most beautiful person on the outside can be the ugliest person on the inside. You make plans for a vacation outdoors, only to have it pour rain the whole time. The fact that fall leaves look more beautiful when they are dying than when they are alive.

What are we supposed to make of all of this? Are these ironies purely coincidence, or is there something more sinister afoot? It's like life is one cosmic joke played by a trickster who has control of the tapestry--control over the end of the story. And they won't stop until you do.

The worst part that gets me is that people don't give up. I don't give up. We deal with the worst shit possible every day--interrupted by short bursts of contentment, even joy--but we still continue on, we still continue to hope for our futures. That's an irony in itself. Even though all the signs point to the possibility that everything is one huge joke, we're all too afraid to laugh.

sometimes

things seem a bit grey
but trust me
it doesn't rain all the time.

or so ive heard.