frozen hair

When I was in 8th grade, we had a gym class swimming unit in the middle of January. The pool was in the community athletic center about 100 meters away from the school building, and on gym days I would run back from class with my still-damp hair hanging behind me, since the hair dryers were woefully inadequate. Most times, for the last half of the run I would hear light clinking noises following me, as my hair froze in tangled strands down my back.

And it hasn’t dipped that far below zero here, but each time I take my shower in the morning I remember those runs in jr. high and wonder if I shouln’t buy a better hat, or at least be more disciplined about showering at night. My head is cold.

Incidentally, my arm wasn’t at all sore this morning, and if I had a hangover I must’ve slept through it. My head is still reeling from the explosive Barbie-pink of the bathrooms at Tjilipop, but that’s only a mild effect. So there’s plenty of me left for tonight’s merriment. Whee!

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