Hair Magic

I got out of bed early today to get my hair done. I know that immediately conjurs up images of some woman who gets manicures, pedicures, facelifts, and botox shots as regularly as she eats (or doesn't eat), but this is not what you think. I get my hair done about twice a year. This one involved color, which is something I tend to get excited about. The idea that you will end up looking like someone or something else is extremely alluring. Reinventing myself is such an arduous task, the hair aspect is the easiest part of a reinvention. But the thing that I loved about today was setting the color. She put me under this thing that blows warm air on my head for about twenty minutes, and presto, the color is set. The beauty of it is that I was suddenly transported to another land. The hot air prevented me from hearing anything outside this little dome, and it created sensations that stimulated parts of my brain that are usually dormant. I sat there, half awake, and realized that here I was unreachable. No one could talk to me, I could talk to no one. I closed my eyes in the hot air and remembered what the Califonia desert was like. A clump of hair went floating by like a tumbleweed through the dust, and I remembered this. It feels so familiar, only heavier. Sad. Lonely. It feels like the sunset of a moody Western, with our faithful hero watching from the back of his trusty steed. Wait. I lost my steed. Where did he go? How do you lose something right from under you? But then I remember. It just happens. He keels over or bucks you off and suddenly you are hoofin' it (pun intended). And then--Ding--Time's up. The color is set. My mane is different, reinvented. Still, I miss my trusty steed. He always knew the value of a good sunset.