Early in the day, before the sweltering heat sets upon me.

Today I awaken determined to get a haircut.

Dreams from a previous night. Details so fleeting. I am in an elevator and am taken to a place where I am told I am dead and have one day left to take care of what I care about and I think of my cat. Only bingo, who I want to stroke and be sure he is okay is all I have left to tie me here. He is okay I learn and I see there is nothing left for me to do. I can die now.

I don't ask any questions about these dreams. I am clearly "processing" something. Death, seems to be about letting go, eh?

Giovanna, my terrific Italian teacher took me to a salon to get my hair cut. It was a trip. I sat and waited, afraid, really that I would be at the mercy of someone who wanted to make my hair big and would send me on my way looking scary. But clipping these straggly tresses is probably the best thing I could do, so I did.

It was fun. I waited my turn as a white haired woman, in sensible sturdy heels and a modest, but nicely fitting blue dress was coiffed and fussed over by the young ladies with sprays, combs and kind words. It was sweet to see they treat her with so much care, respect and affection.

My turn was next. "Just a little."

Uh-huh.

A little became a little more and I left with a coif that is short and cute. I feel good and free. Amazing what a little clip can do for you. I bike my way home and imagine that for the first time since I have arrived, I am not invisible and men are noticing me. If they are or aren't I can't tell. It does feel like they are, and for now that is all that matters.

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