If I do not trim my nose-hair twice a day, it will grow quickly and wrap itself around my body, obstructing my movement and breathing – or so medical professionals have informed me. It will expand first out from my nostrils, and then simultaneously down my throat and along my arms. It will wrap around the wrists, and also creep down into my lungs. In this way—probably overnight—I will lose the ability to speak, breathe and move my arms.
Thankfully, my daily routine already includes two timeslots for the brushing of teeth, morning and night, so it should only be a matter of expanding those from their usual five-minute duration up to the full half hour my doctors insist it will take me to properly battle back the rogue nose-hair. I am not angry at this sudden loss of fifty minutes out of my day. Surprisingly—and I surprise myself with this—I am looking forward to the structure it will bring to my life. Maybe I can meditate. Perhaps the extra time for reflection, coupled with the mechanical task of nose-hair extraction, will lead me to become more productive with the rest of my day. Less dilly-dallying, and the like. Less sitting around wondering about the universe when I could be cleaning, folding, reading, writing, etc.
If I fail to trim my nose-hair, even once, my life hangs in the balance. I could die at any time. I could lose the use of my arms. If, for some reason, my nose-hair suddenly starts growing at a slightly faster rate, then the process will be out of my control and the hair may kill me anyway, despite my following the doctors' instructions to the letter. If the trimming ritual stops working, then nothing will be certain any more. In this way, every day will now feel vital and precious.