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The One with the irreversible Cut
On Tuesday, November 4, 2024, the day before the election, I already feel jittery. I try to follow my usual self-care routine. I play Satie on the piano to fill my ears with calming tunes. I draw animals to reconnect with my people. I practice yoga to center myself. But nothing calms me down.
My phone rings while I work on one of my dog drawings. It’s my hairdresser. I had scheduled my hair appointment for tomorrow, for election day. The idea was to show up for myself, to stick to a normal routine. “Your usual hairdresser is sick,” says the woman on the phone. “Do you want to come anyway and work with a substitute?” “Sure,” I say. Showing up feels important. The next day, I can hardly focus on work. I constantly check the news. I feel relieved when it is finally time to go to my hair appointment. I look forward to having my busy brain massaged. I tell the substitute hairdresser, “Small layers to enhance my curls. Long in the front. I need to be able to put my hair up for yoga.” “Yes, yes, “ she says. I decide to trust the process. Big mistake. She finishes in just five minutes. I look in the mirror. One massive layer. No curls. Short in the front. I almost cry. “I had to be done that way,” she says. I fake a smile, pay, and go home. At home I cry. I try yoga again, but I’m too upset to practice. I go to bed with my phone. I keep checking the news: CNN, NYT, The Guardian. In the early…
