when all the jesters in your head start barking. mocking, tickling and irksome. when the mirror's image edges closer to that of some older adult that you'd call 'sir' (or 'madam' even) than of you. when the inside of your head begs to be placed on the outside. so near bursting itself at the seams of your skull. when dishevelment is real and constant and encroaching on normalcy. pounding down on you like a deadline. and you can't just keep a straight face. like the cranial muscles have little fickle, arrogant minds of their own.

just tidy yourself up. pull your sagging jeans up above your waistline to at least shield the top 20% of your asscrack from public consumption. straighten your collar. smooth the wrinkles in your shirt. even better, change the shirt to something unstained. use water to part your hair hard to the left. a hard part that looks totally ridiculous, but do it anyway. just part the shit to the left and never mind the consequences. part it with a comb, but also follow the comb with the saliva-wet open palm of your right hand.  

then look back at that GD mirror and hum a simple tune. and laugh a stupid laugh. or just breathe one single breath. recognize a solitary physical sensation, that of the pressure of the floor on your foot. smooth down that fly-away on the back left of your head. and smile back at that old weathered fucker with the shitty hairdo and love him. love him just for a second or two. he got you here in the first place. and as shitty as here is right now, he is basically all you've got to get you some place else.