The haircut day

Following in intense night of staying awake till almost 4 a.m, I woke up beaten and sleep-deprived. The long nocturnal conversation had a thrilling fulfilment, although I was a bit unsettled by my yet another jump off the cliff into the realm of uncertainty and exposure. I had tutoring till noon. my private teaching had been tripled following the pandemic as I am once again frequently referred to now that all classes in Iran too have turned online. They keep my schedule operating and balance my routine, not to mention the immense financial benefit which releases me of worries of overburdening S with loans and payments in my absence.

I met Sa at around 3.30 and we took a walk in the Altstads. She invited me to a cold lemonade and we took a leisurely walk in town before going to the hairdresser. As I sat on the chair, waiting for the lady to wash my hair, I became aware of the fact that it was my first haircut out of the country. Such a minor detail but I seem to have a tendency for attention to small things and specially the first ones. The result was good. I am never very finicky about my hair. It could always grow again.

back home, small chit chats in the kitchen with the girls in the building over Tinder, telephone calls showing off my new look and then finally pushing the start click for the Satanic Verses paper. I have been feeling guilty for not working in the last couple of days.

I am really sleepy and the struggle to write is making me even more tired. Tomorrow, I will draw a plan and attempt to give some form to my haphazard scribbles. oh even my haphazard scribbles make me elated after I read them a couple of days later. In the least, I have kept a journal of some of my most transformative years. At its best, I succeed in finding my voice.

Fascinated by the dance of words as they blur the lines between reality and illusion, fact and fiction! Here, I write of my blurred songs of desire!