going no where

Slept most of yesterday, but feeling better today. Not great, but better.

I am meeting Susan and Jill downtown to see Mike Birbiglia's new show, Thank G-d for Jokes.  I watched him recently on Jimmy Fallon and loved his smart, insightful sense of humor. Plus, I could use a night of laughs.

I have more energy, but not enough to wash my hair. Not that it's dirty, it isn't. It just looks horrible.

I think of my dad on bad hair days. He was very particular about the way he liked my hair.  Off my face! 

So if my dad could see me tonight — hair pulled back into a low pony, long straggly pieces hanging in front — he'd have responded in one of two ways. When I was young and living at home, he'd have been direct,  "You're not leaving the house looking like that." But once I was out of the house and living on my own, his question was more tempered.  "Can I ask you a question," he'd rhetorically begin. "Do you really think your hair looks good like that?" And even when I knew my hair looked absolutely horrid, I'd answer with an emphatic,"Yes." 

Tonight, thinking about it, I may have surprised my dad and said, "No, I don't. I think my hair looks terrible. I look terrible. But it's supposed to rain. My hair is clean. I don't want to wash and take the time and effort to blow it out, knowing it'll look bad by the time I get home.  So please don't ask me any more questions about my hair!"

Thoughts of my dad come at odd moments. But they don't make me sad; they make me smile. I can picture him somewhere in his new home, getting along with everyone, fixing anything that needs to be fixed, and commenting every now and then on someone's hair style.

Around 6:15, we end up cancelling and re-scheduling. Susan too is sick. Jill is disappointed. And I'm relieved. Alexander won't notice what my hair looks like — good or bad — when we have dinner at home.