The Art of Not Shaving (Update 501)

Happy Monday.
I have something to say about facial hair. If you've seen me in the
past couple of days, you have likely noticed that I've got a good bit
of stubble upon my face.
I am honestly very self-conscious about facial hair. This is because
I shave almost every single day. I have one of those unfortunate
faces where I am able to grow a goatee without blinking. As a matter
of fact, because my hair is so dark, I always, siempre, have the
effect of a goatee working around my upper lip and down on my chinny-
chin-chin. So even when I have just shaved, I'm still, at the very
least, smudgy. Quite smudgy. I would be fine with this if my cheeks
would play along accordingly, but they refuse. They are a sparse and
desolate tundra-land with only a mere spattering of shrubbery, if you
will.
So for these reasons, I am self-conscious. But then I get a little
bit lazy. Not lazy. That's not the right word. Flippant.
Ambivalent. I just don't care anymore. Let it grow the way God
intended, I say. Maybe I'll shave tomorrow, maybe I'll shave in the
middle of the night. I don't know. I'll shave when the fancy strikes
me.
But also feeding into my self-consciousness is the looks and comments
that I get when people see me. I don't mind talking about it; it is a
good conversation piece. But let it be known that I am not "going for
it." I refuse to ever get up on any bright morning of my life and
decide with all out abandon that I am going to make facial hair happen
upon my semblance. I just can't get into any habit of investing time
and energy into a face that, well, hasn't exactly been the cash cow in
this one-man enterprise. I refuse to make it a priority. I will not
allow hair on my face to be a part of any kind of "look". Nope.
I'm just lazy.