Saturday, August 29, 2015

A bag of hair

Okay, it's happening. The inevitable hair loss is occurring, to the point where it's frustrating when I wash it. Even after combing out a good amount of the hair loss before I get into the shower, even more hair ends up coming out with the shampoo. And I can't just not wash my hair. That would be completely gross.

And, of course, there's the random strands coming out on their own as I'm walking around, living my life. The other day, when I was at my client's office, I could feel it flying out when I walked past a fan. What do you say to people? "Excuse my hair?"

My hairdresser is coming by on Monday to help me come up with a solution (which may end up being a Sinead O'Connor do), but for now, I have to manage. It gets kind of inconvenient to run to the trash can every time I find a couple of strands sitting on my shoulder or something, so I've taken to carrying around a plastic bag to deposit it in.

Yes, I'm carrying a bag of hair. Just saying that is funny. A bag of hair.

I've been thinking about what to do with it. Maybe I'll save it until spring and leave it out for the birds to make nests from.


  1. So if you get the q-ball look, will you start ripping up photos of the pope on live TV? Maybe you can take advantage of the current Trump thing and get a bad blond wig? Love that your sense of humor is intact. Let me know if/when your pee starts to glow in the dark.

    1. I've long thought that Trump has no balls. If he did, he'd let go of that ridiculousness on his head and wear his baldness proudly.

      And you're reminding me I should do a post about the radioactive shots I got before the surgery... after the nuclear stress test.

      We're still trying to figure out if somehow my chemo-laden pee destroyed the algae bloom in a toilet.