4 a.m., day before last, I found myself shambling through the house like a golem, recently expelled from a dark and twisted dream.
I'd insert a 'bunghole' metaphor here - ala Bukowski - but just can't seem to bring it off. Suffice it to say I felt sh*tty and slightly off kilter.
Passing through our dimly lit bathroom, I noticed movement and looked up to lock eyes with my own startling reflection.
The thick lipped and squinty-eyed face looking back at me could've been that of a stocking-faced intruder with its sleep and age distorted features.
The eyes, especially, were odd, and I was reminded of a 70's commercial where you could carve someone's likeness from an apple, then bake it til it shriveled up into a shrunken head.
I remember being fascinated with those eyes as a child - how life-like and human, the bags and creases around them.
Now looking at myself through crab-apple eyes, it struck me I was wearing a mask of my own face, which didn't quite fit.
More and more, I find myself resembling an Old White-Guy.
Which is not entirely surprising, of course, but...
Recently, my father told me I looked like Mit Romney.