I have to admit. There’s hair on the wall of my shower, and I’m the one that put it there. The secret’s out now. I don’t have to hide it anymore. My hair is long, longer than I would like it to be because my last hairdresser pissed me off and it’s like trying to find a good mechanic. Like a quest for the Holy Grail. Who do you trust to handle and shape those long strands of dead cells extruding out of the top of your head?
So there’s a collection of hair clinging to the walls of my shower. I saw this art exhibit years back where the artist took massive amounts of branches and vines, stripped of all leaves, and wove them into mazes, giant nests and meandering walls. You wandered around inside this monster gerbil’s wet dream, and it was art. And I thought, yes, this is more meaningful to me than another painting of some chick with a big forehead from 500 years ago, so I will go along and call it art. You’re in the woods and vines are hanging off the trees anyway so nature does a good imitation of art, and it’s got a blue sky and bird soundtrack to boot with no fee. Yeah baby, it’s like that…that’s how we are supposed to feel. Art puts a frame around things so we pay attention. The urinal is art just like the toliet only since women have to sit down it’s much harder to see the Fountain. It’s an aural effect.
So there’s wads of hair in my shower. Little mini-nests of artistic awareness. A tiny museum with one patron. Yes, I could just clean the shower. I know this. Actually, I bleached the living hell out of it not long ago. But the hair made a reappearance. It keeps reappearing. We lose 100 hairs a day on average, even if we have no iron deficiency and extra stress. We also grow 5 cm of finger and toe nail a year so with all the digits together that’s a meter of nail extruding from our bodies annually. And the skin cells, dear god the skin cells! We lose 30,000 to 40,000 skin cells every minute. Nine pounds a year. 70% of household dust is skin cells. The next time you’re dusting that grey stuff off your favorite knicknack…remember it’s mostly dead matter thrust out of your epidermis. We are surrounded by pieces of ourselves. Like zombies, parts of our bodies fall off as we go about our business. We don’t even notice. I am literally not the same person I was last year. Even the breath coming out of my mouth is not the same air that went in. And, no, I will not get started on the bodily fluids.
How can I keep myself together? I’m falling to pieces. Pasty Cline was right all this time.