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Time to report that my hair has reached that stage. You know, it has gone to certain lengths. Already a month ago it was screaming “Cut me! Insert scissors!” Now it just says Sad. It just says Slump, and No goddamned way! It has birthed a new beast: the leonine mouse. I’m not sure yet if that’s its name... maybe mousoline lion?

The truth is I don’t believe in the good haircut. The truth is I didn’t have the money before vacation to go through with it. When I went to cheapo, a sign said “closed for renovation” with the dubious caveat of “for YOU, valued customer.” How can it be closed for ME when I am standing at the door? Before I began looking like a reject weeping at the window of a darkened shop, I scurried off. This, I suspect, is when the mouse quality took root.

My hair also says Defeat. It says Bring the fingers. Mostly it speaks an unknown language.

My hair is not long it is not short. My hair is not brown it is not blonde. My bangs hang as notbangs. My hair wants to ponytail but won’t. Neither will it do pigtails, usually reserved for moments of hilarity. When I attempt the ponytail, two wispy quotation marks enclose the nape of my neck. As if to say Kick me.