I think too much: Decay

I just went to the bathroom and saw Mike’s deodorant in the trash can. It surprises me how he could finish a seemingly endless stick of Natural scented Right Guard deodorant. This has no connection to the fact that I don’t use deodorant and am therefore incapable of knowing how long deodorants last. When his bar of Dove soap shrivels to the size of a bean, when our tube of Extreme Clean toothpaste runs out of steam, when my mascara runs dry, all these mark time and loss. It makes me wonder how I myself am also part of this process. Those who know me know that I am sentimental, I think too much, and my feelings flip flop as fast as a butterfly flaps its wings. (Though don’t you think to bat would be a more appropriate word to describe the movement of butterflies? Its wings are like fake eyelashes that bat flirtingly.) I can be childishly amused with cutting a gecko’s tail one day and feel distraught with the death of a cockroach the next. “Rest in peace. I allow you to do the same to me in our next life,” I often say to insects that I kill. I cut my hair yesterday and Yutaka chopped off the last inch of my dyed ends. Eerily it marked the end of my past. I dyed my hair only a month or two before I met Mike whom I will be marrying to next year. My hair grew the length of a long ruler since I met him. Wow. Time. Growth. Death. Loss. Decay.