It’s been a week since my job as managing editor of Michigan’s newest daily newspaper was “eliminated” for economic reasons.

I pondered the milestone as I brushed my teeth this morning. When I looked into the mirror, my heart skipped a beat and I shrieked.

Albert Einstein was looking back at me.

It was actually me in the mirror, but something about my hair was looking an awful lot like Einstein’s, which tells you what a weird week this has been.

Before I was laid off, I worked at the Livingston County Daily Press & Argus in Howell, Mich., for nearly two decades. Livingston County, for those of you who can’t see me holding up my left hand and pointing out its location, is halfway between Detroit and Lansing, Michigan’s capital. Always having our left hand to use as a model of Michigan’s lower peninsula is one of the few perks of living in this state these days.

Since I lost my job, I’ve rearranged all the furniture on the first floor of my house. I’ve cleaned out the refrigerator and emptied every drawer and closet. Stuff is everywhere: old clothing is folded and stacked in a pile for charity; papers are in piles for shredding and filing; recipes I’ve meant to try, long tucked away in drawers, are scattered on the dining room table; books I mean to read are stacked here and there. I finally found the title to my car.

In my search for meaning in my job loss, my house — my sanctuary — now looks like someone broke in and ransacked it, or like I was kidnapped after a brief but fierce struggle.

But, rather than tame the chaos today, I decided instead to tackle Albert Einstein: I made an appointment to have my hair cut and permed, an investment in my future, I figured.

“You’ll feel so much better,” I told myself. “It’ll feel like a fresh beginning with a new hair style.”

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

The salon at which I get my hair done is small, with only two stylists. Getting an appointment is never easy. Usually I have to wait at least several days and generally a week to get in. Today was an exception.

“I’m open all afternoon,” said the stylist I’ve used for several years. “Pick a time.”

I like this stylist. She’s fast, she’s good, and she has this plaque on her mirror that says, “I’m a beautician, not a magician.” Every time I see it, I laugh.

When I got to the salon, I was the only customer. My stylist appeared to be asleep in her chair; the other woman was eating a salad.

My stylist’s respite was short-lived. “Be a magician,” I said kiddingly as her scissors flew to tame my Einstein ’do. “Do your magic on this hair.”

She listened as I told her about my job loss while she rolled my hair with the perming rods. As we waited 20 minutes for the perming solution to take hold, I listened as she tried to cancel her dental insurance over the phone in order to save $35 a month. When her husband lost his job, her household income was sliced in half. She’s considering changing her medical insurance to a catastrophic-only plan, covering her and her husband in only the most dire of medical circumstances. She’s not sure it’s the right thing to do, though, and she’s wondering if she’s somehow overlooked any other places to cut.

The household income of the other stylist plummeted 75 percent after her husband lost his engineering job. “He doesn’t know what to do with himself,” she said. “I told him he’s got to find his way.”

Business has been painfully slow.

 “Just before Easter is usually a busy time,” my stylist said. “I’ve got practically no one today, and we’re closing early tomorrow because we don’t have many customers.”

A woman from the shop down the street came in to chat because she had no customers. A waitress who ran in for a quick trim, shared that she’s gone from earning $800 a week to less than half that as people eat at home, or at less-expensive restaurants.

“I’m renting out a room in my house,” she said. “I don’t know what else to do.” The propane bill to heat the 1,300-square-foot home she shares with her kids and new boarder has run $600 every five weeks this winter.

Times are hard, for sure, and for the first time in my life, the ugly reality of an economy ripped apart by greed on the part of the smartest guys around has also landed right on me.

I’ve never lost a job. I’ve never been unexpectedly unemployed. I’ve worked steadily since I was in high school; when I was younger and working at lower-paying jobs, I often juggled two of them to make ends meet.

I’ve seen hard times, to be sure, but I’ve never seen anything like this.

The jobless rate in Michigan hit double digits a couple weeks ago for the first time in the last quarter century. Just this last month, the state’s unemployment rate jumped to 12 percent, nearly half again the national average.

The number of people collecting unemployment in the U.S. hit a record high today. And the newspaper I used to edit is keeping its head above water in part because of the number of foreclosure notices it publishes.

As General Motors weighs bankruptcy, my brother, who works at a GM plant, worries about his future. My sister’s boyfriend, who works for an auto supplier, is waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop; demand for parts is down and his plant is struggling, even after he and his co-workers gave back $4 an hour last year.

We’re all holding a collective breath, crossing our fingers, wishing and hoping for an end to this economic catastrophe.

And my beautician is wishing there were a way for her to really become a magician. If only she could wave a magic wand to make the economy healthy again, instead of wielding her scissors to make a laid-off newspaper editor look less like Albert Einstein.