It's humid in the Midwest. Even in the cool of the morning I woke to hair a Texas beauty queen would be proud of, naturally teased large, sticking to itself, tangling itself. Hair brushed straight this morning will have shrunk up and formed into banana curls by the evening. If I reach up and hold one to the light so I can see it, I see what might have been beautiful corkscrew curls, the kind that I've always envied in other girls, except that each hair has taken its own path, different to the hairs to the right and left and top and bottom. My stubborn independence has manifested itself in my hair, with much the same result as in other aspects of my life.
Tuesday morning, sore muscles, picking microscopic dots of primer off my arms.