This week's roughness was perfectly encapsulated by my morning of groggy thoughts. The first words that crossed my mind as I stumbled out of bed—more sluggish than usual after a 2 a.m. bedtime—were later jotted down in typical fashion. 

I think this week's roughness has been duly emphasized by my morning of foul prayers. 

Despite typically being an early riser, waking between 7-9 a.m. (and sometimes even 5), I was surprised to find my roommate already up, impeccably dressed, and standing by the sink. He was meticulously spraying his hair with the single bottle always by our sink, making it damp. 

Watching him partake in such an act brought back memories of my elementary school days, when I often left the house with a wet head. I was notorious for bedhead yet stubbornly remained adamant about choosing hairstyles that made it all the worse. At one point, it pretty much became a joke for my mom.

Hairspray? I thought. However, on closer inspection, I realized the bottle contained only water, further reminding me of how I would catch the water running from the bathroom sink with a cupped hand before dousing it on my head and heading out. 

Most times, my hair still wouldn’t flatten out.

But what fascinated me most about his routine, which I only recently observed, was its rhythmic and precise nature. He would spray his hair twice with misty water, lean in to examine the slight change in the mirror, and then repeat the process.

Not satisfied? Spray again! And again. And again, he’d go.