You know those old M&B-style chestnuts like ‘the gentle breeze ruffling my hair’? Well not anymore. The gentle breeze feels like a blowtorch across my scalp, and ruffling my hair feels like dragging it out by the roots.
Yep, the rot has set in. I’m losing it. The hair, I mean. No surprise, they told me I would. How it happens might be interesting, though. Present indications are that I’ll end up looking like one of those old hippie blokes: bald as a coot on top, with a fringe like a hoola skirt encircling the dome just above my ears and drooping down to about the jawline.
I find I care more than I expected. Not how I look. That’s always been a lost cause. But it was mine, you know? My hair, thick and silver and often a bit wild, and part of me. Part of me. And they’ve taken it away.
I’ll get over it. In the general scheme of things, it’s less than nothing. But today, I am sad.