I’m glad my body is not an object

Or, at least, I’m trying to be

Every morning when I look in the mirror, I lean in close, as if to examine some imperfection or another. Instead, I find the thick silver hair that has sprouted right off my hairline, right in the middle. I get distressed if I can’t find it—a trick of the light, or it’s just hiding under one of its dark-haired brethren. 

But when I can find it, which is…