I'd like to
subject you to share with you a little poem I wrote when I was in the 5th grade:
(What a precious little 11 year old I was.)
Hair is very good to have.
It grows from birth to death.
And I really, truly have to add
that your hair can become quite a mess.
But if you did not have your hair
some bugs would come and bite you there
and then your head would swell up fast
and you'd wish you had some hair to last.
Somehow, this poem has managed to remain in my mental vault of useless memorizations, information, and trivia, much like the following digits of pi:
which I memorized during 8th grade pre-algebra by staring at the pi banner that wrapped around the classroom after finishing my tests early.
Sometimes I wish I could tell my brain which pieces of information to retain and which to throw out, so I could forget about that stupid poem, and pi, and all the times I made a public fool of myself, and all the times my heart shattered. But then again, if Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is any indicator, maybe it's best for us not to have executive decision making rights regarding our memories. Probably so. Besides, what makes an identity if not a mind?
Stephen Hawking has done just fine with not much else than a mind. In fact, sometimes I wonder how much of his brilliance stems from the fact that his mind is trapped inside a cage of a body. His mind may be trapped, but his mental capacity is perhaps freer than yours or mine ever will be. Maybe if we could sink into our thoughts and ignore the physical world more often more of us would be brilliant too.
Anyway, all I really wanted to talk about is hair, and specifically body hair and how much I hate it and wish it would just fall out. Cause I was shaving my legs (which I do every three weeks or so, you'll be happy to know), and I once again managed to nick the sensitive little pit beneath my knee, which is apparently the home of a major artery. And watching the pink water spiral down the drain, that poem came into my head and I thought about how naive I was at 11 years old.
Not all hair is very good to have.
Now that that lesson has been learned, I wonder what bits of naivete about myself I'll be pointing out another 10-15 years down the road.