Typical. Just typical. This always happens to me – every time I have to leave the house too! Why? Why is this always happening? What karmic reason could there possibly be to have this happen? I mean once? Fine. It's still not fun, but once is manageable. Hell, I'd settle for once a week!

The frustration of this repetitive torture boils up within me. I screw my eyes shut, hoping against hope that if I look in the mirror, maybe – just maybe – it'll all be just some bad dream. Maybe it won't be real, just mirage. It's just a mirage, it has to be!

Squaring my shoulders, grabbing the sink – to steady my suddenly wobbly knees – I work up the courage to face the bane of my existence: shaving. God, I sound so pathetic. Why can't I just skip this crap and not – WHOA! NOT SHAVE?! HELL NOOOOO! I'd sooner go to school butt naked and sign autographs with my di… FUCK! Why do I do this to myself every time? "Calm down. Just… calm down." I say to myself, hating the baritone voice that assaults my ears.

I ease my grip on the sink – no point in taking it out on something that could cut me up if I break it. Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax. It's just your reflection. It's just your reflection. Nothing's wrong. It's okay. You've dealt with worse things than this. It's okay.

Opening one eye – well, cracking it open slightly – I check to see if there's anything different today. The reflection awaiting me… I sigh. Nope. No different than that hairy, ugly, fat little caterpillar that I saw there yesterday. My hair is blond – though not obscenely blond, so I sort of like that – I already parted it down the middle and combed it to the sides (at an angle so it's hard to tell if I combed it straight back or to each side once it dries). My bald spots are still there annoying me – fuck you, genetic pool. Some days I really hate being me, and seeing that I've been slowly going bald since I was thirteen… well, it tends to get worse every day. I mean, sure, it's just a receding hairline, not that Franciscan monk style hairdo… but somehow that comforts me less and less each day.

Fine, let's move on. My forehead smoothens as my 'anger knot' recedes slightly. My eyebrows rise, showing just how upset I was a moment ago. I hate my eyebrows. Maybe I should just let my cousin pluck them – I'm sure I could bring it up in such a way she'd think it was her idea, right? Hmm, she's got a party tonight at ten, so if I 'happen' to show up about two hours before that… yeah, she'll have enough time to do some craziness without feeling rushed and shrug it off. I mean, she'll end up showing up two to three hours late, saying that 'the real party' won't start until then anyway – calling that 'fashionably late'.

My eyebrows tuck back down, my nose crinkles slightly and I purse my lips tightly– my usual response when I'm trying not to smile about something. Jeez, I can't even let myself smile when I'm by myself! Something is wrong with me! Oh well, I like my nose. Sadly it's one of the few things I really like – some other things I sort of like, but I really like my nose. My lips on the other hand… I have my grandmother's lips – usually pursed, showing little more than a thin line.

#-#

#-#

Hello one and all. I haven't been writing much for fanfiction lately, because I've been... working things out in my personal life. Between a messy divorce and coming out as transgender it's been hell. This isn't really a story I'll be working out, more of a way to show that I still do think about you guys and that I will be making a comeback soon - I just need to sort myself out before I continue to mess up stories because of my own emotional state.