This post was originally written for tinybuddha.com. You can find the original post here
It’s 2004, and I awake in a student college in Melbourne, Australia. This comes as no surprise, because, at the time, I lived there.
I groggily stagger to the shared bathroom on my floor, to perform my morning washing routine. There’s nothing unusual about my lavatory procedure, so I’ll omit the details, for all of our benefits.
So far, so good. Already I’m full of optimism for today.
As I wash my hands, I glimpse myself in the mirror and notice my majestic, messy bed-head.
I often sport a disturbing, motley “I’ve just fallen out of bed” look for entire days, as I forget to check in the morning that I look sufficiently acceptable to go outside.
I usually see myself in a mirror just before I go to bed, and invariably feel retrospectively ashamed that I’ve had tufts of hair beaming in assorted directions since I woke up.
On this day, however, I notice my unconventional tufty hair and take immediate, drastic action, slapping the top of my head with my wet hands to encourage my mane into an acceptable shape. I stride out of the bathroom, feeling satisfied.
Universe 0, Neil 1. One triumph already: not appearing for the entire day as if I have just fallen out of bed. What an excellent start to the day…