Narcissus

Lately the quality of my day has been easily affected by the quality of my hair for the day, which in turn lives or dies on how well I part my hair. It all comes down to the post-shower a.m. moment of drawing the edge of the comb in a line across my scalp. Will I accomodate the cowlick? Or have a chunk sticking up in the back? Will I finish with too much hair on one side of my head and not enough on the other? As my haircut grows out into increasingly unstructured floppiness, the part is the only thing I can hang on to. And knowing how my hair is coming off somehow causes my whole day to follow suit. Just put it in a ponytail = can't get it together = dropping food on crotch of pants at lunch. Or forgetting to go to the bank. Or taking the wrong freeway. When someone told me a couple days ago that my hair looked nice, I told her that if you can get the part right, all harmony of life will flow from that. She thought I was kidding but I wasn't.