...But That's Where The Ideas Were
Feeling kinda naked without my beard. It wasn't a great beard or anything; it's just that it made me feel more writerly. If you think about it, all the great writers have 'em:
Don't be fooled; Gertrude shaved hers.
So that, combined with Penelope calling me a naked demon and all, has kind of got me down. I just don't feel like I can write at all - not without those comforting strands of genius sprouting out my follicles. From hirsute to hack, with but a fateful swipe of a blade. Tragic.
And the worst part is, in my condition I can't even articulately lament my loss:
"O beard, beard.
Beard.
How I miss thy orange fuzziness, thy reassuring... uh...
bristle."
See?
I guess I'll just let a picture do the talking. Here's me in more literary, Amish days:
3 comments:
what do you look like now that all that hair is gone? you put up a before literary, Amish days hair picture but what kind of demon 'as Penny says' do you look like now? With your sahved eyebrows all all? And where are the horns you wrote about?
um, Colin? I say Good Riddance to the orange bristles of writerly Amish-ness. I'll take hairless demon over the mutton chop maestro any day!!! But that's just me...
xo Wee
Cute, but the lambchops shoulda been thinner. Go Red!
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