Time for a haircut.

By the time I get downstairs, I feel the **** fully dissipate in my system. The world suddenly feels murkier, slower. Blander. A headache follows, but it isn't as bad as the last one. I manage to fight past it as I look for Mom.

I find her in the living room, watching a movie on television. She's changed out of her yoga clothes, into a clean pair of yoga pants and a regular t-shirt.

"Hey Mom," I say, walking up to her. She startles at the sound of my voice but smiles once she sees me.

"Hey dear," she says. "Decided to come out of your dungeon?"

"Yeah, I finished studying for today. I wanted to ask you for your help on something, instead."

"What do you need, dear?"

"A haircut. It's time for a haircut. And probably some other things. But for now, just a haircut. Can you help me out?"

"Oh, a haircut? You haven't had me cut your hair in years! I'd love to. One moment, while I get the clippers." She rushes out of the room, into a side door that opens into our garage, and returns with an electric hair trimmer. She leads me out the back door, onto our deck, and plants me on a lawn chair. "Ready?" she asks, as she plugs the clipper into a nearby outlet. "How do you want it cut?"

"Simple, business style. Whatever that is." I had an idea when I came downstairs, but I can't recall it now. It shouldn't matter much. It's only a haircut, not life or ****.

Mom hums as she trims my hair. Long strands of brown hit the ground, and I sigh. Not at the loss of my hair, no, I never cared about that. But at the fact that I had let myself go so badly. It is amazing that I'm not also overweight, but perhaps my genes kept that in check.

The sound of the clippers is mind-numbing, but I try my best to block it out. After a few minutes, Mom transitions to a pair of scissors, then back to the clippers. Despite not being a hair stylist, she's pretty good.

"Alright, done!" she says, as she steps away. "Go check it out in the mirror."

I smile and go back inside to look at myself in the bathroom. A young man looks back at me, much more respectable than the one I saw only yesterday. Mom did an excellent job with the haircut, giving me the cookie-cutter businessman haircut of a part and soft fade.

I go back outside with a broom and sweep away the hair, and thank Mom. "It looks great. Thank you, Mom." She tries to take the broom from me to help clean up, but I shoo her away. "It's the least I can do."

She smiles at me, once again, and takes her tools back inside. "Dinner will be in an hour, dear. Your sisters should be home in time. You might want to shower first."

A great idea. I stumble upstairs, my headache still pounding at the back of my mind, and turn on the shower. I throw my clothes in the hamper and jump inside, letting the warm water cover me. "Ah," I sigh. The sensation seems to dull my headache, so I sit for a moment and enjoy the respite.

Wait, the weird thoughts went away? The entire time I was downstairs, I didn't think anything sexual about Mom. Are the pills causing those thoughts? Are they side effects, as Brad warned? Or the natural evolution of my mind? Either way, the idea scares me. Should I event continue taking them? I consider that line of thought for a moment, but I already know the answer. It's too late to turn back now. I'll find another way to deal with the intrusive thoughts.

I hear a door slam downstairs. Must be one of my sisters returning home. I quickly wash my hair, really washing it for the first time in forever, and scrub my body. By the time I get out of the shower, I feel like a new person. Despite the headache, of course.