The bummer about reading Human Smoke right now is that when you have a bad day (like today, the day in which I got the worst haircut ever and it's not even fixable because it's now so short there is nothing to do but stand tall, walk proud, and ask Buddha for both the larger lesson in this and rapid hair growth; this is also the day in which Mr. Counterbalance messed up his foot, which is a big problem as he owns Walk Fido, wherein it is important that you can actually...you know...walk) reading a good book is often the only antidote. But when the book you are reading depicts the unraveling of the world in the run up to WWII, it becomes easy to not want to read that book. Or any book that is heavy and hard and serious. Which is just about all the books I've lined up for myself over the next three weeks.
Yet, it is the very subject matter of Human Smoke that makes me realize how dumb it is to be upset about my haircut. There are bigger issues than my unintentionally pseudo-punk rock do (that I am sure I won't be able to re-create on my own once I wash it) and I need to remind myself of that every day for however long it will take to grow out.
That is all.
