Wednesday is aging, night thickens and cold is omnipresent. The big black dog barks at a tree that we will cut down this weekend and cut into at least 100 smaller pieces like savages around a whale carcass. We will watch it burn inside a winter fire, and chuckle warm and watered.

Trying to write something new every week has only cultivated claptrap, so I have no choice but to write about not being able to write, about something.

I haven't been up to much lately, thus fueling my lack of story. I am sure there is a story somewhere between waking up and getting out of bed but I am far to inert during this period to rattle the part of my brain that requires impetus. This impetus often found in the form of coffee.

I have started shaving again, properly again. I had been lazy up until this week, only shaving with limited accuracy caused by appearance apathy. But this week I had this sudden urge to shave with a razor so that my face was so smooth that I would sit and just rub my face as if it was foreign and great aunties would comment and say something uncomfortable like 'your face is as smooth as your dads bum use to be'.

Earlier in the day I bought a new razor with a bottle of wine. The young girl at the counter told me not to drink and shave. I failed to laugh or even crack a smile which I felt somewhat guilty about, but I've become such a snob towards shit humor. She was cute which makes her redeemable. I saw the funny side of what she said but she needs to work on her delivery.

I raced home 10km/h over the speed limit and opened my razor like a five year old around a Christmas tree. I wet my face, smeared shaving foam like butter, took a quick glimpse in the mirror and took the first strip. First the sides, then around the jaw, under the chin, neck and upper lip. I splashed my face rid of any foam, blood or residue and felt my re-born countenance.

Though being a perfectionist I wasn't convinced. I wanted a perfectly smooth face, any rogue hairs had to go. So I shaved my whole face twice until I took the first layer of his skin off just to be safe.

The next day I went to the chemist and bought something that wasn't as embarrassing as condoms, but mortifying all the same. I couldn't find the moisturizing cream in the chemist so I had to ask at the counter amplifying my discomfort. Turns out it was clearly obvious, but easy to avoid. I paid and made little eye contact. I don't know why I get embarrassed about this stuff but I need something to make any situation difficult.

After the purchase and the embarrassment subsided I walked out of the chemist and back into public. I felt so uncomfortable that I expected a murder of paparazzi outside waiting for me. I was slightly disappointed to find an old lady and a tied up dog, both incapable of using a digital camera.