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From my little brain
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Content is paramount.
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[2/20/2004]
I'm sitting at my desk, cupping my chin with my hand , reading yet another document on yet another spec on something or another, when I noticed my facial hair poking the junk out of my palm.
It's only been a week since I haven't placed a razor against the grain of my growth, and it's getting to be quite nasty looking/feeling. Suddenly, I remember when I was six years old (or was it seven?), with my Dad hugging me, rubbing his sandpaper like skin against my forehead, as I squealed in terror and delight at being treated so unjustly. I remember him laughing, as I struggled against him, laughing along, but also a little perturbed that I wasn't strong enough to get away. I promise, this is the last time you'll get a pic of me this close up. Dang, I'm ugly. Look at my eyes, that's from a total lack of sleep people. Got more bags than a bag lady. That's a week of growth.
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