...aaaand back?

I promised myself I wouldn't do a thing, not a thing, until I got my hair cut. No blogging, no friends, no visits to the bank, hell- I wasn't even going to eat before getting my hair cut. I worked my tail off, on the road, for the last half of December all to come back to New York for two days and get hit with a horrific shit storm of a flu. I checked out of the city and basically checked out of life and hunkered down with my parents in New Jersey until this cold front passed over my body and I was back to health. In the meantime my hair, which was shaggy and miserable before leaving town had grown so unkempt and wild that it became the epicenter for everything bad and rotten in my life. I swore when I returned to feeling 100%, getting my hair cut would be the first step in restoring my life back to normalcy. The hair on my neck had grown to full-on werewolf, I had bangs, my beard was Rastafarian and my sideburns were now fit for a standard application to the East Williamsburg Orthodox community.

My flu finally subsided by Wednesday night and by Thursday I felt healthy, brave and eager enough to hop the 197 Willowbrook Mall Express to Port Authority. I missed my life, my apartment, NPR, my friends and I could not stand the thought of another day flipping through channels just to end up on another disdainful episode of The "Real" Housewives of The OC (Vicki is such a bitch.)

Stepping foot on the New York concrete and getting slapped in the face by a frigid gust of wind was like finding a pool of water after wandering the desert for 5 days. I was back and the city was mine again. Being back gave me one of those rare New York feelings where I felt the city was more accessible than ever. Subways were fun and the entirely redundant subway-to-apartment walk was interesting yet again! I had one of those moments where I asked myself, "Yeah, why don't you go to MoMA, like everyday?" and "I'm totally going to the New York Public Library at Bryant Park on Saturday. Just to go! After all, this is New York." My excitement to be back in the city and healthy again caused me to take the very rare trip to West 94th street to see my friend (who always asks me to come over and eat dinner but I always complain that "it's too far!") and catch up.

My excitement to be back in the city and to see my friends dropped quicker than an erection to a Grandmother when my friend greeted me with a hug and said in that hyper-homo snarky tone that I hate and makes me want to rampage facebook pages, "yeaaaah. That hippie-bear look you're going for isn't really werking werrrking (snap!) working for you." I wanted to shove the palm of my hand right up his nose but instead I settled for a "fuck you" and a hug. I dropped my jacket and demanded hot food at once. My resentments didn't last long and I found myself enjoying my friend, his company and sharing where we have been and what we have been up to for the month we hadn't seen each other. At 2AM we called it a night and I headed downtown on the 2 train to 14th street where I discovered the L was no longer running, but still in my excitement to "be back!" I decided to walk from 6th Ave. to the East Village to get home. I arrived back home around 2:45 (I stopped for a hot tea on the way) and crashed into sleep without trying.

I awoke today and rolled around in bed for a few minutes and cracked my laptop open to begin hacking down on the emails I've been ignoring for weeks upon weeks even though I pledged to not do a thing until getting my haircut. I answered about two emails before rolling my eyes and considered renewing my Republican ownedManhunt account but remembered while hairy might be "in," the homeless look certainly isn't and I actually did have better things to do than sit around all day answering going nowhere, back-and-forth emails like "What R U in 2?" and the always clever "sup?" I blew a short breath out of my lungs, swung my feet over the bed, stretched, got up, thew some Santogold into the stereo and steamed up my tiny bathroom with a hot-hot shower. I was ready for my hair cut and start living life again.

I figured I should actually eat before doing anything as it's probably a bad idea to go hungry when your body is recovering from the flu. I had banana pancakes (yum!), two coffees and a water. When I got up from the table I felt exhausted. I prayed that I didn't already over do anything and was going to end up sick again. Regardless, I was going to get my hair cut! I usually get my hair cut at that small place across from Ty's on Christopher St. but I decided to settle for Astor Place Hair instead as I didn't want to brave the walk to the West Village in my weakened condition. I always get my hair cut by the same tattooed Latin guy who considers me "pretty cool for a gay guy" and always invites me to smoke a joint with him on his break. I declined this time wanting to ensure that I recover before harming my lungs again. As he snipped away at my hair I felt self-loathing and ugliness lifting from my body like stench out of a sewer and I was relieved that this one single action was finally taking place. Whew!

After the haircut was done I felt more exhausted than I did after breakfast. Looks like I'm not entirely healthy after all. I was bummed that the haircut didn't cure everything I thought it would. But I suppose it's all about baby steps, right?

Ugh. I need my bed.