Week Old Stubble

In the stillness of a semi-foggy morning, I woke up after a solid night of conflict dreams. Where problems are never resolved. So I took a shower and shaved like a winner and headed to the office. Walking through the living room, my wife is cheering like an armchair quarterback for the Americans in the Ryder Cup, I know John. But it is what it is, so at least I know my weekend will be decided by now well they play. Geez.

I’m a sports fan myself but not in the way my wife and son are. They take the shit so seriously and my girls can’t say nothing cause when they played youth sports they were just as bad. This is definitely an affliction inherited from my wife’s side of the family, and you all know it. Still the sun continues to bleed through the foggy sky as my Dear wife grows more frustrated by the minute. But maybe this is why she sleeps so well at night because she gets all her frustrations out right then and there. While I stew about a problem allowing it to fester in my sleep.

I do my damnest to let things roll off my back. But often the inside voices beg to cry out their opinion. Often blaming myself for all the troubles going on around me. And while in many cases that may be true. It’s the getting up and trying again that counts…right? That’s too deep a hole to crawl down into at the moment. Let me just end this inner dialogue with you by saying. Life is never about a well placed strand of hair or perfectly shaved chin. It’s about the attitude you carry when the winds whipping and your scratching stubble that’s at least a week old.