When In Doubt, Grow A Beard

I hate shaving. I don’t know why. Fixing up a house involves so much tedium that I had to take one onerous task out of the lineup. Actually, it was Hatbox Louie’s idea. She calls it a construction beard. I really could hardly look less like a doctor which I guess is appropriate, since I could not feel any less like one.

The problem is, I don’t really feel like anything else either. I figure something will come to me, but that doesn’t sound like much of a plan. I guess I’m on pause.

As I peer into the future, all I see is…I guess that’s the problem: I don’t peer. I just wait. And paint, and scrape.

Thank God for the beard. There is a future. Predictable. Every day, it will be a little longer. Guaranteed. Even if I’m dead. Now if that ain’t puppy dog doily Hallmark hopeful, I guess I just don’t know what.

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Published in: on March 16, 2007 at 6:10 am  Comments (1)  

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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. Doc, you’ve got Norm Abram master carpenter’s syndrome! I’ve seen this sort of thing before. It’s a post traumatic stress sorta’ thing — those damned staples!


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