People complain about the ads and featured posts that pop up as they tour the internet, but if they’re truthful, they’d have to admit it’s all stuff they kind of like. Those pop-ups should make us feel “seen,” because we the hell are being seen. Lately what I’ve been seeing is lot of photographs of mummies. Some of them were freeze-dried. Some were embalmed. Some were embogged. I get a huge kick out of them all, as the tracking pixels in charge of me can attest. A lot of the preserved bodies are super old. Like, maybe five thousand years older than me.

But they all look better than I do.

It isn’t just the prominent cheekbones and taut skin. They even have better hair. Or, to put it another way, they have hair.

I still have hair. Not everywhere I used to. That’s mostly okay, but I was sort of attached to the batch on top, and now I’m not. My draperies are turning into sheers. Next summer I’ll probably have to sunscreen my head. I had assumed it was just falling out, bailing on the job without training a replacement first. I sit in my comfy chair doing nothing more strenuous than tapping a keyboard, and then notice hairs stranded on my sweater. I pluck them off. But ten sedentary minutes later, I’ll glance down and find even more hairs. That weren’t there earlier. My hair isn’t falling out. It’s jumping.

My hair is receding faster than a Florida coastline in the Anthropocene. The hairs on my head have been apathetic at best and I couldn’t comprehend how any of them had the gumption to launch themselves into the air. And that’s when I realized. They’re not jumping. They’re being pushed.

It’s an inside job.

It came to me when I tried to make a recipe calling for three cups of cooked rice. No instruction about how you acquire that. I looked it up. Two cups water to one cup rice; one cup uncooked rice makes three cups cooked. The recipe didn’t come out quite right.

Somewhere between figuring out I needed two cups of uncooked rice and four cups of water, and walking five feet to a counter to measure, I’d turned it into three cups uncooked rice and 4.5 cups water. Not that anyone at NASA is thinking of hiring me anyway, but how does that happen?

I’ll tell you how it happens. The ability to remember two single-digit numbers for ten seconds has leapt straight out of my brain pan, just for the sheer hell of it. Whee! Also my Apple ID. Whee! Also the name of the guy in that movie, the one with the bloodhound, he’s married to, you know, her father was in that movie with Jack Lemmon and Marilyn Monroe?

Cannonbaa-aaaall!

All that, and much, much more. Completely out of my brain now, and every one of them strips a hair follicle on its way out. Wheee! Poink!

I swear I could hear them wheeing if it weren’t for my tinnitus.

It’s either that or Elon Musk and his band of bro-brats have broken into my store of knowledge. It’s super efficient in there now, but damned echoey.