It was sitting on the tip of my chinny chin-chin this morning — or should I say mourning. It looked like a piece of lint or a stray string from my shirt sitting there entangled in my goatee. I had to strain to see it in a mirror and once I did, I noticed it had friends and was tragically not a piece of lint or a stray string from my shirt.

I see you've got your list out / Say your piece and get out / Yes I get the gist of it / but it's all right

I should just say it I suppose. I need to admit it to myself already so I can start accepting it. They say this is the hardest part, but how do they really know when we never know who exactly “they” are. Maybe “they” are a group of babbling idiots who just string words together devoid of any real meaning or context. Just because “they” say it does not make it so.

I am procrastinating. I just need to type the words and be done with it. I have grey hairs in my goatee. There are currently five or six of the little bastards just beaming out in the midst of a sea of dark brown. I knew old age was slowly overtaking me for a few years now, but this was the first sign that I could actually see. Is this how it starts?

Sorry that you feel that way / The only thing there is to say / Every silver lining's got a
Touch of grey

My hair began quitting their posts a few years ago. I am not bald or even close to it, but there is a very nice start to a friar’s patch on the top of my head. A Yamika would cover it nicely so if my vanity ever drives me to Orthodoxy I am set. Luckily I never have to see the landing pad so it does not bother me too often — only in pictures from behind actually and I stopped mooning tourists a few days ago.

These chin insurgents are not the first of their kind to appear, either. The lady who cuts my hair is kind enough to update me on each and every new one she finds as she clips and shortens. I always smile and tell her each grey one has decided to stick around a few more years. It was the dark ones that had not decided what they wanted that I did not trust. Until today, grey hair was my friend. Now it is a street sign on the road to senility.