Carefree H!

It’s been a surprisingly pleasant, even carefree day so far. That’s a word not used for a while around these parts – carefree.

I got into the shop about the usual time only to find out that the one therapist I had rostered on today (Thursday’s are quiet) wasn’t able to get into about 2.30. Normally that might have been cause for some angst, but today it was sufficient excuse to relax, and go window shopping guilt free.

It’s funny how things work. Yesterday I woke up grumpy. Today I woke up in a whimsical mood. There’s all sorts of mysterious elements that make that so, but from a practical perspective there was good reason to feel bright a chirpy. I had an enjoyable night last night. It was an excellent day in the shop yesterday. And my hair looked fine.

I don’t care what anyone says, bad hair days make no-one happy. Good hair days have a correspondingly positive aspect to them. Your hair looks good and the world can’t be too bad.

I got my hair cut yesterday the first time for about 8 weeks, my last couple of appointments having been cancelled because I was too busy. My hair was long and thick, sort of ok in a backwoods sort of way, but in need of some cultivation. As always happens I walked out of the hairdresser with my hair sticky with gunk and looking nothing like I want it to, but only a shampoo away from it.

There was no time for the necessary shampoo and so I carried that misbegotten hair style out last night. There was hair everywhere. I looked like the sort of person who didn’t have a mirror and probably couldn’t be bothered looking into one even if he did.

I was off to a book launch, but stopped off on the way to enjoy an excellent Aviation cocktail at Bar Americano. It’s a bar almost literally a hole in the wall down the end of an unpromising laneway. Classic Melbourne in other words. The bar itself might be classic American speakeasy. Wood panelling, classic cocktails, groovy era music, an expert bartender in a white apron concocting his magical brews. All it needed was a sassy Betty Grable type at the bar, and maybe a stock of bootleg under the counter.

Feeling refreshed I left with my hair trailing after me and attended a book launch at a friend’s home. It was an interesting night. I knew a few people there, and recognised a few more faces, including that of a guy I worked with years ago . I ummed and ahhed about saying hello to him, but by the time I finally decided I should he was gone.

While I was doing this the shop was going off all of a sudden making the sort of money that if it did it every day I’d be sitting pretty and happy to retain.

This morning I washed my hair and suddenly I was about 500% more attractive. That was good. There was a bunch of money waiting for me at the shop. That was good also. So, the girl was going to be late? Yeah, whatever.

I went out and bought a couple of books. It’s a sunny, quite windy day, and I felt the wind in my hair and it was thrilling. That’s what I like, that windswept feel and look. My hair is long, but generally so thick that it wont shift for anything short of TNT. Freshly cut, freshly washed, and it was unbound and free. Hell, I felt sexy.

Next I finally bought myself some new undies and socks. All my jocks have holes in them. My socks are missing toes, besides, most have lost their partner – how the fuck does that always happen? Basically I’ve been walking around hoping I don’t get hit by a tram. Now I can go out and get by the number 96 happily knowing I won’t be embarrassed by the state of my undergarments. Mum would be relieved.

Time to kill still and feeling cavalier and footloose I stopped for a hot chocolate at the cafe where I used to flirt with waitress. Now she avoids me. I think she views me as a bit of a vag-tease. Fair call maybe, and musing on that I take out the books I bought and flick through them. One is Return of a King, by William Dalrymple, about the 19th century history of Afghanistan, and the English there. The second, aptly, is The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P., by Adelle Waldman.

I picked it up in the bookshop and read the blurb, and then the quite over the top endorsements and thought, yes, might be a good read, thinking at the same time that I’ll probably recognise something in it. Though of course Nate is Gen Y, and there will forever be a gulf between us.

After about 30 minutes I left. Paying my bill I bumped into the waitress, and managed to make her laugh spontaneously. Win. I do like her.

I’m now sitting in a vacant shop waiting for my therapist to arrive. I bought a cheap CD before – Paris After Dark – and I’m playing that now instead of the vacuous, new age ambient shit we normally play and which I’m totally sick of.

Hope the day continues to be as good. Think it’ll be quiet, but getting the masseuse to teach me her trade. May as well learn something while I’m here.


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