Insomnia

I have some odd habits—4

I like to hook my arm around the back of my head, hang my hand down over my forehead, and tug on my upper eye lid. Just something I like to do. I don’t know why. I usually do it when reclining and conversing, possibly also when thinking intently. Occasionally also in an upright posture, as shown in the present representation.


Annoyance: Graphite seems to loose its suppleness when converted to pixels.

Pleasure: I managed to make this more intensively drawn image by working on it for a single short interval on four reasonably good days. It helps that my arms have been a bit better.

Hair

Professionals have trimmed my lovely locks only twice in the last 14 years.



For the other 26 or so cuts in the same period, I’ve let coarse amateurs have at it.



Sisters, friends, husband, self. I think my sister Amy was the first. When that became hard to coordinate, I began to hack at it desperately myself and, to my great surprise, got a fair number of compliments. My hair is very forgiving.




This method of grooming is not recommended for everyone. Especially not recommended for important people who are expected to look like their importance is justified. Also not recommended for unimportant people who are trying to get important and need to look deserving of a status upgrade. If I had a Career in the World, I would probably get a Haircut too.

But I don’t. I spend most of my time in two rooms of my house. It's a big week when I venture beyond the lawn three times. And I don’t like spending money on haircuts. Though I started home-schooling my hair for thrift, it became a practical necessity as my health went down, down, down. When you’re very limited, basic things like washing your feet or clipping your fingernails become wicked trouble. Or like getting a haircut. I couldn’t sit for half an hour. I couldn’t use up half a day of Larry’s overdemanded time for him to take me to a salon and bring me home. And I definitely could not hold my head in those bent positions they expect you to maintain. That, and the sitting, and the traveling to and fro, would have freakin’ destroyed me.



Instead, I found Larry could give me a satisfactory snipping in about 5 minutes. He’s tops for speed. What’s more we could do it sitting outside in the yard if I was up to it. Once when I was up to it we went to a nearby pond. Aesthetic contemplation and practical necessity, all in one pleasant 20-minute outing.

Some of my coolest cuts have come courtesy of sister Sarah, artist that she is. But residing thousands of miles away, she’s not the most accessible hairdresser.


And Larry has gotten better as I’ve tried to direct him less. Once, mid-cut, he got inspired, announced excitedly that he had an Idea, and started at me with a concentration I had not witnessed before. It made me nervous. But the result was lovely. And his artisinal style has continued to develop. The latest cut, now overgrown, was his best yet.

Only one near disaster has occurred. Last summer, being out of humor with my forehead, I decided I wanted bangs. I warned Larry that one has to cut the wet bangs long because they will bounce up short when they dry. Soon after he started in snipping, I started to panic. “That feels really short!” I protested. I put my hand to my emerging bangs; they were really short. “Well,” Larry said, halfway across my face, “I’ve got to keep going now.” At least, judging from the final product, he did veer down a bit.

My urban friends informed me that short, crooked bangs were “in.” And Alan fished up Web photos of cadaverous women in absurd clothing to prove it. However, I think the fashionableness of my new “do” was lost here in rural Vermont. It elicited no spontaneous compliments. My mom gave it the evil eye. But I ended up rather liking them bangs.

With home haircutting thrills so cheap, why would I ever go back to the salon? Well, I can think of one reason—a professional haircut. I doubt it would be worth the pain from holding my head in those funny positions, though.

Besides, this way I can pretend I’m part of a little-known movement to liberate hair from capitalism.

Some revolutions are quiet.

Redeeming the Day

Oh yeah, right, motivation isn’t actually the problem here. I’ve worked hard to train myself to not do things—to not be motivated. It’s absolutely essential to keeping my symptoms down. But then, sometimes, I have a hard time getting myself to do things that I could do and want to do, like writing. So I work on being motivated, and I get myself to do things I want to do, and I get into them, and I do too much, or I do too many things, because it’s so fun doing things . . . and I stir up symptoms.

The challenge is to make the best choices I can within my limits: to make the best, most satisfying use of the energy, strength, and so forth that I’ve got. In some sense it’s everybody’s dilemma. Our lives are bounded, at the very least, by birth and death and the physiological limits of our bodies. When I find myself banging against my own limits, I try to bring my attention back to this basic question: What choices can I make that will lead to the most satisfaction with the least strain?

Ten minutes of writing, or one of cartooning, can redeem a whole day. I can almost always, these days, do at least that.

I Identify

Gardening, Larry-and-Priscilla Style

1. Designate a patch of land "Garden." (Or acquire one so designated.)
2. Adore whatever comes up.

Guaranteed satisfaction.

We sometimes plant things too. This is our sunflower patch:

Those little things with four leaves (surrounded by dirt) are the sunflower plants. They aren't big, but we love them anyway. Pray for them; they are struggling for life against the odds, especially inadequate sun. Actually, they are about twice as big as last year's plants.

We are very proud of our one blooming lupine:



We take the same approach with the lawn:


Maybe I'll write a self-help book—"Let the Lawn Go: Living an Unmanicured Life." It will be about loving all that is bedraggled and substandard in your life.

You know, a lot of what people call weeds are just wildflowers unrecognized.

Pills, Powders, Liquids for the Sick

www.iherb.com

Guest Cartoonist: Larry's "Real-Life Comix"

True story. My part in this one was to convey the story from my friend to Larry and to say, "Cartoon it."

*&&^%$##$$#!!!!

My arms/shoulders have been very irritable lately. I am having particular trouble getting anything done on the computer. My backup system has been unavailable as well: Larry has been way too busy with work to help. Hence, no real post this week. Not even a little scribble. Next week. In the meantime, I think I'll go sit in the sun.

Not me

(Remember: you can always enlarge a post image by clicking on it.)