After Closing The Window

It's a bit hot in here, so I closed the window
and turned the air down. I think, in the night,
I may wake and open the window as I much
prefer the outside air and it's supposed to get
cooler.

I talked at length with a friend tonight about
where I am in all of this shennanigan shit.
We came up with a few theories, proofs,
speculations.

I was compelled to watch an MSN video about
Farrah Fawcett. In 1976, I was a senior in high
school. One of my coworkers told me I had
such beautiful hair and encouraged me to go
get a Farrah-do. She also encouraged me to have
my (Brooke Shields--who was not known at
that time) eyebrows plucked. I resisted,
as I always have, to be a frou-frou girly girl,
so I kept my hair long and straight and I never
have plucked one hair from my eyebrows.
I wonder if I made a mistake a long time ago.
Maybe I should have done more to enhance
the natural. But the natural has grown old and
saggy and grey. And there is Farrah, on her
deathbed, I assume, speaking about fighting.

I am just going to get in bed, open one of the
books that arrived today, and read until I can't
read any longer. I question why it's easier to
want to know about the death of a woman
who has lived a rather good life than to know
about the children, men, and women of war,
of poverty, of disfigurement, of destitution.

Which is not to say I don't feel there is every
reason to feel touched by the life of this well
known woman who decided to share with the
world her battle with cancer.

Life is too fucking weird.