Splitz Ab

I guess if I were famous, like writerly famous, they'd look back on my life at some point and remember some features of my life. Some writers are known for their epic writer's block, alcoholism, reclusiveness, OCD or some other idiosyncrasies. For me, I'd suggest it be my headaches. Not migraines, weather driven, sinus steered hilarious axes to the brain that make me mutter "please go away" and occasionally reference a god I don't believe in (for being a jerk).

Much like the rain that drives these headaches, and the feeling after a good cry of exhaustion, these headaches leave me tired and thoughtless, but fresh. During the schism, the bags beneath my eyes feel deeply etched and heavy, like they were extended all the way to the ground, dragging along the ground as invisible anchors. Here's the thing though, I have a poker-face. Perhaps, you'd call it a poker-face of mediocrity: never well-rested entirely, never dead-tired. People have said to me, "The thing about you David, is that you always look the same" and this always comes when I feel the most tired, when my head is splitting down the middle, and when I have horrible gas. When my hair doesn't stand-up 6 inches about my head, that's when people think something is wrong, that I'm tired, that I'm depressed; the only time this really happens is when I feel that yearning to be clean, and spend that extra effort washing my hair.

Yep, I don't wash my hair. Just add water. Rinse, Rinse, Repeat.