Off the top of my head…

This afternoon, I lost twenty pounds in one hour – that is, I got my hair cut…

Now, this was not one of those “just a little off the sides, please” trimmings – but a full-on whirring clipper scalping.

My poetic and overly verbose Barber (though not of Seville) calls it a “Prtorian Cut” but the only similarity that it bears to anything remotely “Roman” is that it seems a significantly shorter version of the Caesar Cut – or the “Clooney” hairstyle, as the kids call it these days.

Tonight, after everyone else had gone to bed, I stayed up and looked into my reflection… a grim and homely visage. Sunken dark eyes ringed in restless red, grizzled day-growth stubble, silver glistening follicles amidst the black.

I do not take such drastic alterations lightly – nor are they thoughtless indulgences of caprice. To have my hair removed is something of a “mystical” experience for me… almost penitential.

My decision to be shorn thus was precipitated by other, more overarching, inclinations – desires of a wholly religious nature. Resolutions pertaining to the days that remain of the Spring, and those of this Summer. I am casting many things away, and drawing others within me.

This simple trifling gesture of a haircut is but the outward manifestation of an inward resolve.


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