n'est pas

I think I could be perfectly happy spending a better portion of each day arranging, dissassembling and rearranging hairpins into variations on the same upsweep, hair piled around my head as though I woke up with an infrastructure of small metal placeholders jabbing this way and that, victorian bedhead plus one for the bangs. It seems fitting that my nervous habit would be one that includes so many damn acoutrements, sentinent ones I think because where are they all? On the office floor, causing severe toilet clogs, flying out the car window onto the connector, blending in with everything and yes, everything. The evolution of the accessory maybe they are trying to be something bigger than their parts.
It does make for an interesting (and accessable) catatonic state, should I ever completely forget that there is life beyond preparing to face the outside world. It will be noon, 5pm, 3am, the following morning and it still won't be right, and they will ask where to find me and it's easy I'll be the one winding the already incomprehensible into an even bigger mess than my hair. My eyes will be the ones more determined than ever, my eyes will be mad I will turn around and greet visitors with mad eyes asking them did they find one pin. I can see my eyes go insane as my hair refuses to cooperate, my entire life falls into place around the fact that my hair will not.

My imaginary future= my imaginary institution.