The sewage department was working on my street today. As I went out this morning, they had their equipment splayed across the street and a sign up that said “Pedestrian passageway.” The sign was embellished with a close-up photo of flowers; I think these were camillias.

Lots of construction signs in Tokyo are decorated this way and it’s ironic, since there’s not all that much foliage around and sometimes the flower photo is the only nature in evidence. But it’s a cheerful (if futile) attempt to make a construction mess a little more tolerable.

I was on my way out this morning to get my hair cut. I hauled across town to the stylist I like (I’m not going to repeat my December mistake again) and spent three hours being cut, colored and coiffed.

Beauty under construction. They really should put a sign with flower photos in front of me while they do their thing. I can’t watch Dan as he works; I stick my head in a fashion magazine the whole time because if I look up, I see this middle-aged woman with crow’s feet, a sagging chin and circles under her eyes staring back at me.

I’m not sure what it is with Watanabe’s mirrors but they reveal in too, too vivid detail the mortal, aging side of me that I try to deny. I noticed that this was the case with everyone there. We all looked…weary. Moth-eaten and friable. I think I’ll blame it on the lights.