Mundan Vanity during second wave

I went near-bald again the other day. Almost taklu. That's the third time this pandemic. I've forgotten what it feels like to go to a barber, or see any symmetry in my hair. There's a strand sticking out on the side. Imagine if I was living with OCD through this? I'm doing it again. My shrink asked me to not compare my problems with anyone else's. "Your feelings are valid and meant to be acknowledged", right? Did you know shrink is short for head shrinker? Is that rude or flattering? Anyhow, short hair feels liberating in a way, or as liberating as things allow me to feel right now.

It's a privileged stance though, isn't it? Being able to complain about how I am feeling? Or even think about it? I procrastinated writing a ton of emails today. But people have bigger things to worry about. Won't it be insensitive to send someone an email where the subject reads, "I want to pursue my passion, please pay me for it"? I mean, people are begging for oxygen right now. Some are begging for a hospital bed. Some are even begging for Kangana's Twitter account to be reinstated. My demands don't factor anywhere in this graph. I'm doing it again. I'll just blame it on the strand of hair sticking out. If it were towards the back of my head, atleast I could pretend to be a priest. Or a sanyasi. Hell, I could even run for CM. Wouldn't that bring down expectations.

There's this limbo I'm stuck in, of caring too much and too little at the same time. Of empathising with every single horrific story, and being exhausted enough to feel nothing but indifference to the burning world. I didn't know these feelings could coexist. I should be sending some emails right now which might just make me feel better. Or productive. Instead, I'm typing whatever this is. I guess I'll just blame it on the strand of hair sticking out, and hope it comes across as a metaphor for the burning world coming in the way of my holding a coherent thought for over 16 seconds. So much for not making it about myself.