Cut Cut Cut Cut

Something that I imagined would be behind me by the time I got to be as old as I am now is shaving badly. It's common enough to miss a spot here or there, and certainly the two areas at the opposite ends of my jawline could stymy anyone, but I feel as if all too often I do such a terrible job that it might have been my first time with it. I sure thought that I practiced enough times with a blade-less razor as a boy, but there it is.

I think that I have finally learned the lesson of not using cheap disposable razors enough times. It took me more times than it took to learn that a straight razor shave from a professional isn't instantly good, but I got it. I even figured finally that I needed to use decent shaving cream, because the charm of Barbasol just doesn't outweigh the pain any longer. Still, I commonly shave and find that I have inflicted some wounds on myself.

I get impatient with things. Spending a lot of time on anything unpleasant, which for me encompasses a whole range of ordinary activities like shopping for food as well as daily morning toiletries, I invariably begin hurrying through it at some point so that I can do something I like better like trying to write or eating something. I'll do something like press too hard with the razor or start applying cream with the skin too dry, and there you are: reddened skin and a bunch of little cuts.

I don't know what the remedy is here except to ultimately afford the cost of a really good professional at my beck and call. Mentioning this issue is apt to draw advice on how to handle it, but listening to grooming advice is about as intolerable as the act itself or the consequences of executing it poorly. Nonetheless I must persevere, and God willing I'll be done with all the red by the time the hairs are white and gray.