A whirlwind 3,200 miles across on Titan, Saturn’s largest moon. That’s about the distance from Anchorage, Alaska to San Francisco. God, that really puts things in perspective, our place in the universe, how small we are. I could be living just a few hours south of a massive whirlwind right now. That would be terrible— I’d probably have to use all kinds of products to keep my hair looking okay. And it’s actually been looking pretty good lately, too— I don’t even know what it is. I can’t take credit for it, in good conscience— I don’t take that kind of care of myself. I am as surprised by this turn of events as anybody. Just on its own— has a mind of its own, a hair mind. And it’s mostly felt good… but really, part of me is like maybe this is some kind of last hurrah before I go crazy bald, like ugly comb-over, Friar Tuck, Bill Murray-in-Kingpin bald. Maybe this is the last bit of the up-part of the roller coaster before everything goes hurtling down into decay, flesh-eating inevitable decay, the unavoidable wasting away of the flesh. Think about it: maybe a week from now, or a month or a year, maybe my hair won’t look good. So, yeah, I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately— who can sleep with those kinds of thoughts in their head?
Maybe I should be using a different shampoo…
