Look in the Mirror

My hair is disheveled, and skin oily from today’s day off from normal hygenic practice. My right eyebrow has a split which occurred from an eye operation to correct a crosseye problem I had when I was four, which was eventually corrected when I wore corrective glasses to supplement the operation.My skin feels pasty, likely a reaction to my recent voluntary lack of caffeine, in order to reestablish a healthy relationship with the chemical, and bring balance to my recently acquired collegiate lifestyle.

The other eyebrow has a slight split that occurred from a fall when I was in third grade, a brush with the ice when two schoolyard bullies introduced me to it at great acceleration.

My eyes are wide awake from a recently induced single-tall non-fat latte, a temporary reprieve for a body that has struggled for the last few days. The eyes are brilliant hazel, surrounded by a pool of slight bloodshot, from an adequate quantity but insufficient quality of slumber, the physical answer to full days and a still unwillingness on my part to sacrifice a social lifestyle for an educational one.

Two days of new-growth forest takes shape on my face, giving definition to a dimple on my chin and arousing suspicion of the scar below it, the result of a catwalk injury obtained while falling off a ladder onto the backstage during a high-school production of “You Can’t Take It With You”, where I played Third FBI Man. The accident was part curiosity and part boredom, due to the only line I had in the production, “This is him!”

My hair tries in vain to cover an expanding forehead. It has a similar sheen to my skin, and awaits a good bout of Ph balancing.

My lips are dry and cracked, and cry out for moisture, as does the lump of gray in my cranium after an evening’s worth of dehydration.

At least the sun is out today.