Tuesday, June 08, 2004

Poor Claire



I fell asleep after dinner, around six-thirty, and I woke up after nine, just before Brie and Hasan got here. Truthfully, I was still half-asleep when I talked to them. They didn’t make much sense and they left.

Outside, the sky was that fake-looking electric blue it gets just before dawn and just after sunset. It was windy and warm and I felt weird — in some between place. I burned what was in the firepit, for some reason, and then I wandered around the house, accomplishing nothing except twitching and staring and fiddling pointlessly.

Eventually, I cut off all my hair. My hair hadn’t been bothering me, really, but I felt better afterward. Sometimes you just don’t feel like having hair anymore. I nearly bicked the whole thing, because I’ve never done that before and I always kind of wanted to. But I chickened out. (Now that I think about it, I’ve seen that electric blue before. It’s Lynch blue. The rose and the box and the key and the silencio lady’s beehive — now there’s hair I’m glad I don’t have.) The good news is I’m not balding. My hairline is exactly where it was the last time I shaved off all my hair.

I can’t explain how any of these relates to anything else.

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