(no subject)
I feel rugged and manly every time I reach up and scritch at my beard-in-training.
Sometimes it speaks to me.
It says, "Nathaniel, the open road is like a song you forgot you knew.
Scrape the rust off your strings and play it."
It's fond of saying things like that. Things that set my blood boiling and arch lightning through my fingertips.
My wanna-beard itches for adventure.
And it's not like my angry, angsty need to run away from my problems. It's a call to the heart of me, to the guy born under a wandering star; he's tired of his yesterdays and yearns for an unpredictable tomorrow.
Sometimes I think my demibeard and my heart are in league against my rationality. I think they'll overtake the whiny bastard and beat him to death with his own shoes.
One of these days. Very soon.
Sometimes it speaks to me.
It says, "Nathaniel, the open road is like a song you forgot you knew.
Scrape the rust off your strings and play it."
It's fond of saying things like that. Things that set my blood boiling and arch lightning through my fingertips.
My wanna-beard itches for adventure.
And it's not like my angry, angsty need to run away from my problems. It's a call to the heart of me, to the guy born under a wandering star; he's tired of his yesterdays and yearns for an unpredictable tomorrow.
Sometimes I think my demibeard and my heart are in league against my rationality. I think they'll overtake the whiny bastard and beat him to death with his own shoes.
One of these days. Very soon.