Facial Hair Epiphany

So, I shaved my beard this morning. It was something long coming as chewing on my own scraggle had become an unconscious pastime of mine. You know those extra long hairs at the side of the mouth? They're just nice to gnaw on now and again... but no longer. No more will I see whiskery goodness when I jut out my chin. Instead, if I'm lucky, I can see my bottom lip and often my tongue. But neither of them are well known for their hairy goodness.

     I must say that I already miss it. I feel like a kid without it, and - sure enough - several people have commented on how much younger I look. Normally this would be a swell thing as I am nearing the ripe age of thirty, but the age they usually place me at sans-scruff is closer to twelve. It's like stepping back in time. Were it not for the extra thirty pounds hanging from my bones, a picture taken today might be confused for one taken in high school... except that my t-shirts were much bigger back then and were usually tucked in to highwater jeans. Even so, I can't help but feel that my razor has given me some control over the ravages of time. Perhaps even the ability to command it entirely.

     If, in fact, this is the case, I may actually find all the time I need to accomplish my dreams instead of having to prioritize them. My novel is currently in its third revision, and I'm really starting to feel good about the direction it's heading. However, I just started work on a new independent film script, pitched it to my writing group this weekend, and we've given it the green light to produce this summer. Now, I've failed miserably at independent film production before. And this time might be even harder as I plan to keep it as second fiddle to the completion of my manuscript. But now I have something I didn't have before: a magic razor. With it, I will be able to shave away great swatches of time from... oh, I don't know... when I would normally sit and stare at my blog just in case somebody comments, or all those showers I take - do I really need to wash below my knees? It takes longer and I almost fall every time and no one ever smells down there anyway unless I'm kicking them in the face and who cares what that smells like - or I could just stop snacking as much. Have you ever noticed how hard it is to write and have a good snack at the same time? Crappy snacks, sure... I'll just steal a quick nibblet every now and again and keep working. But something good, like popcorn or those Mickey Mouse head ice cream bars from Disney World, always get your hands dirty so you can't really type until you're done.

     When next you see me, I may be completely bald and have completed five novels and a non-fiction cryptozoological study on the mating habits of elves. Not the Tolkien kind, the Keebler kind. I have a hunch they go at it like bunnies. That's why you never see the girls. They're always holed up somewhere pregnant while the youngins bring them cheeseburgers and pickles and astronaut ice cream to appease their pregnancy appetites.