Day 208: Haircut

I’ve had my hair cut. It’s good getting your hair cut. You feel good. I mean, obviously you’re still fundamentally compromised as a human being, and utterly incapable of giving or receiving love, but you’ve got shorter hair on the sides of your head, and your fringe is insouciantly curled, and just for a moment you can believe that you’re not going to die alone. You will. You will die alone. But just for the briefest fleeting instant it’s so nice to believe.

You think about buying some new clothes to match your new haircut. Something grown up, smart, appropriate for your age; no more of these grungy threads you wear to cling on to your truthfully long since faded youth. You think how you might meet someone in the John Lewis clothes department, your eyes locking in the reflection of an all steel espresso coffee maker nestled in the department across the aisle. You’ll go for cake, an honest conversation, you’ll walk in the winter air together as workers rush home with their coats done all the way up, the trees above gently shaking off the last of their yellowing leaves.

You’ll admit that you’ve never truly tried at anything, you’ve never known who you were, you’ve sabotaged every relationship you’ve had because deep down you didn’t feel you were worth being with. You’ll wonder at the vulnerability you’re showing, but know it’s time, know that you’re ready to break apart the old you and start afresh.

After six months of dating you’ll move in together. A tumble down cottage with an open fire and plenty of room for books. And you’ll finally write that concerto you’ve been putting off, and start giving piano lessons in your spare time, and become a more active voice in your community. You’ll join the Labour Party. You’ll learn to cook seafood meuniere. You’ll spend weekends bike riding round the coast with your friend from work.

You’ll have children, and know how to raise them, and they’ll go to esteemed universities and during their holidays bring you breakfast in bed. Your children will have children, and you’ll hold your grandchildren, and looking into their newborn faces you’ll see the whole cosmos shimmering in the depths of their eyes.

The wonders you and your new haircut will be able to achieve will know no bounds.

Or… well… You blink, now, and glance again in the mirror. You look a bit stupid actually. Why is your skull such a weird shape? And your fringe doesn't appear so insouciant now you're out of the barbers.

No. You will die alone. Might as well roll another spliff, and you and your new haircut can settle in to a Brooklyn Nine-Nine marathon on Netlix together.