My Ear Hair

So, I created this little blog space about a month ago, with the intention of having a place and a reason to do some writing, something I really like to do. Many people have told me that I should write things down. Not because I have a hard time remembering things (which I do), but because I write well, and like to do it.

However, it has had an interesting effect. It is interesting to note that writing one's thoughts down can have a crystallizing effect on those thoughts. It brings them into clearer focus. I have posted lots of political thoughts here, personal belief statements, causes I support, or don't support, etc, without really realizing that the whole of those thoughts, along with the other 80% that AREN'T written here, make up a lot of who I am, and how I move through the world every day. Interesting.

Over time, I'm sure more of that absent 80% will show up here in one form or another...

But, on to more entertaining thoughts:

So, I have this hair, this one little hair, stiff, thick, and solitary, perched atop the highest point of my left ear. He stands perhaps as a guard, a sentinel, a soldier, watching over the flock of hairs on my head. His assignment is to watch over them and make sure none go missing. He's a brave little fellow, ever present, silent. He just grows there, not having been asked twice - or even once for that matter, but taking on his assignment with stoic courage. Every once in a while, about every five or six weeks, I can feel him waving to me as I walk to the car or step outside for a minute. He does it just to let me know he is there, watching over his charge, as if I should feel comforted and safe by the knowledge of his presence.

Every six weeks he is unceremoniously slaughtered in defense of his post. The lady at the hair place where I go to have my hair cut slices him off at the ankles. She does it quickly and quietly, as if I'm embarrassed to have him there in my defense. Nonetheless, he is duely replaced by another brave volunteer in short order, fresh and ready for his assignment. When the old fellow waves at me every five or six weeks, I think he is telling me he is getting tired, unable to finish the assigned task. He is ready to be replaced by a fresh soldier who is able to do a better job. By the time five weeks rolls around, he realizes he has failed in his assignment and is reporting to the General for his ultimate punishment. He does this because he knows he has failed in the assignment, he notices that some of the flock from the top of my head have gone missing and have not returned. He has failed.

Little does he know, those missing hairs have taken up residence on my back. My back is the "hair retirement village" for all those hairs that were once on my noggin. It has a warmer climate, after all, and mostly shade. But, how can my little soldier friend know that?

Perhaps I have too much time on my hands.