endings.

I've been asked seventeen times in two weeks why such a drastic haircut was in order.

Split ends; too much work.

But also:

Season's change. I was ready to declare Summer over, ready to leave the heartbreak, sweat, agony, mosquito bites and sunburn behind. And all of that hair. Mother Nature is with me on this one, as evidenced by this week's dramatic weather shift. Like a lightswitch with faulty wiring, the connection closed with a lack of conviction, the sun has flickered a few final warm days onto us and is now thoroughly extinguished. Seasons in New Jersey always come and go like this, without the wonderful extended transition awarded me in my youth by a slight change in latitude. Spring and Fall pass with all the production of a curtain dragged by hand across stage. A haircut seemed the appropriate way to acknowledge my surroundings.

Friendship's upheaval. People are coming and going. Last week I said goodbye to Joe and Solmi. Hugged Joe, told him to stay safe, hugged him again. Wished for a forcefield of safety to surround him and his marriage as he sets out for the other coast to start the next phase of life. Asked Solmi to take care of him. Of course she will. I left for the train with tears streaming down my face. I am affected. Erik will leave this Winter. Marc next year sometime. This weekend I may have lost another friend, which tears at my heart... time will tell. It seems I am the only one staying put, and it seems I may be the one that wants to leave most urgently. I am also the one with the least conviction, and the least idea of where it is I'm going. A haircut seemed like a good place to start.

The times, they are a-changin', friends. And I'm not just talking about heartbreak and haircuts. We will never be the same again. This has always been true but lately, it's come as a little bit stronger kick than usual that we're evolving, and there really is no going backwards. Admit that the waters around you have grown. As I walked down 23rd St on Saturday evening, an ambulance with 12 motorcycle police escort screamed by. I tugged at Marc's shirt to drag him back from the corner. I wanted to knock him down and cover him, to protect him, to protect the whole city. We've no idea what's going on and we're reciting the ABC and CBS party lines back at each other. I heard this... oh really? I heard that... We're salon-dot-comming and metafiltering each other into paranoia. There's nothing to do; we're under siege. Staying up so late only puts off laying alone in the dark and wondering when something will jump out from the closet to eat you. Kill me. Torture me. Get it over with and bring it on, or just stay up and up and up until alert means unconscious, reasonable means drunk, open means closed. Love means despair. Peace means war. Strength means fear. Life means death.

Really, though. It's just a haircut.