LOU RASMUS

“Ok,” I say with a sigh, and then I start shaving the scratchy fuzz that has been sprouting out of my chin. It doesn’t grow very thick, but I shave what’s there and it makes me feel better. That is, until I notice that the skin where I shaved has started peeling from the cold weather. I decide to rub some lotion on it. Only, when I do that I notice how prickly my skin is, and I see that there is still some hair poking through my pores in a few places. I consider going over it again with the razor, but then I figure that it’s not really a big deal either way. It’s not like anyone will care if I shaved or not. There is a zit on my lip, though, and I think someone may see it and think that it’s a herpes blister. Oh well. It’s not like anyone really gives a fuck if I have herpes or not, either. No one wants to fuck me. I look at the zit for a while. It’s nasty. Then I see that my nosehairs are getting long too, so I get out my clippers and I clip, clip – “fuck!” – I clip the inside of my nose and it starts bleeding: a stream of red trickling down to my lips. I taste it before I can get a tissue to clean it up. It bleeds a lot. I stop trying to cut my nosehairs after that. Then I curse myself for fucking this up. Somehow, I fucked it up. Shaving was supposed to make me feel better. I thought it would make me feel cleaner, or lighter, or some bullshit like that, but now I’m standing here with a half-shaved face and a bloody nose and I feel worse. I feel stupid. I fucked this up just like I’ve fucked up most things. Like I fucked up going to school, and keeping a girlfriend, and paying my bills on time. I fucked up the whole thing and now I think I’ll just grow a beard.