Prelude

I hate being rushed. I am so tempted to postpone until another night but I really do want to see her. I just wish she had given me more time, is all. It seems I always forget something when I am trying to hurry and I end up worrying about whatever it is for the whole evening. I'd prefer to focus on her rather than the dirty sock barely visible behind my couch that I can't pick up without drawing attention to. This isn't really accomplishing anything. No time to think, just do. At least my place is relatively clean. Thank heaven for small miracles. Mostly I just need to worry about myself.

I flip the switch turning on the florescent light and stare into the mirror, waiting for it to warm up. The barely audible hum of the electricity making its way through the bulb and the sickengly honest pale light filling the room reminds me of a hospital. I intentionally keep the bathroom free of the aesthetic niceties you see in other houses. Just because I use this room to hide all of the things I don't like about my appearance from other people doesn't mean that I need to hide them from myself. I find it's better to know exactly what I am working with. Harsh light illuminating a harsh truth. I don't think I am particularly unattractive, just that there are several steps I must complete before I am at my best.

First things first. I strip myself of all clothing and dispose of it in a corner. My eyes scan my reflection, appraising my body and I begin to compile a list of problem areas and assets in my head. I smile to myself as I place one hand on my waist and stomach area and feel a new firmness. Not much to be ashamed of there. It's amazing what a little exercise a day will do for you. However I do need to get rid of the "love trail" as it's called. Thinking about it, I decide that whole area needs a shave. I find hair in certain places to be a bit unseemly if allowed to run rampant. My chest hair should be okay but my armpits could use a trim. Facial hair too. I have a tendency to let my beard get a bit scraggly. Shouldn't be much of a problem as all of that is easily remedied. Luckily my haircut status is pretty good as I would have no time to fix that.

A quick sigh before I begin and I turn to my cabinet. With a practiced hand I withdraw the basket sitting on the third shelf up and place it on the counter in front of the mirror. The tools of the trade. I rummage through the various utensils, ever so careful to avoid the sharp ones, until I find what I am looking for and what I will use to begin my process. My fingers quickly twist the cap off the tube of toothpaste and squeeze some of its contents onto the brush in my other hand. Briefly I debate rolling up the toothpaste tube. I think about this and quickly dismiss it everytime. It does seem the most economical way of doing things but could possibly damage my routine. That would be very undesireable, especially when time is as crucial as it is right now. I seal and replace the tube in my basket, deciding to again leave the change for another day.

Rearranging the brush in my grip, I stop to stare into the eyes of my reflection. In these most private of times, I am as emotionless and two-dimensional as my counterpart in the mirror. Pain and pleasure are the only things that seperate us and I am devoid of either right now, merely an automaton going through the motions necessary for future interactions. I am devoid of these things, if only for the briefest of moments.

In the split second that the gel-tipped bristles of my toothbrush push past my lips, I am reminded of just how different I am from my reflection. A newly arrived canker sore announces it presence by sending waves of searing pain through my mouth. Utterly dumbstruck, I break eye contact with the numb image of myself that I will not reflect again this night. My nervous system is now very much awake and although it fumbles with the slumber button on the alarm, it and I both know it won't get any more rest. At least this is what I think. Even before the shooting pain has begun to subside, my brain is already working on answers to this new problem and I am very aware that not much time can be spared. My feet begin moving and I am on my way to the kitchen and another solution in another cabinet.

Not wasting time with the light, I procure the saltshaker from my sparsely populated pantry and move to the kitchen sink. The feeling in my mouth has diminished to an everweakening ache but I know this is the best way. As I pour some of the salt on my finger, I mentally prepare myself for the new pain. I know there is no time for hesitation. Every moment I waste is a moment I could have spent finishing some trivially important preparation task. Opening my mouth wide, I plunge my finger into a fresh inferno of pain. When the salt makes contact, my eyes immediately squeeze shut and I have a sharp intake of breath. My every thought is begging me to lick my tongue across the sore and cleanse the salt but I steel myself against the instinct and wait patiently for the numbness a part of me knows is coming.

Slowly, my eyes open and I release my breath as sweet relief begins flowing like a wave through my body from my mouth all the way down to my feet. A tear escapes my eye and I quietly laugh for joy. There is no feeling as pleasureable as relief. Thinking that I have come out of a dark tunnel and see the path clear before me now, I allow myself the briefest of rests before I replace the salt and make my way back into the bathroom. It is then, when I come out of this tunnel that the train of my routine forever jumps the tracks, never to be heard from again. As I am quickly walking back to my toothbrush and my basket of tools, I take a corner too sharp and the big toenail on my left foot meets with the wall of my apartment building.

Everything in my head is momentarily gone as I crumple to the floor. Nothing exists but the pain. My eyes stare ahead unseeing. There is no part of my being aware of the fact that my hands are closing around my foot squeezing as tight as possible. White pure feeling eats like an acid-wave at the beach of my brain and everything that is me is carried away with the tide. Drifting in an ocean of pain, I have no sense of where I am. I know only that when I wash up on land, I am not where I was before and all of me did not make it.

As awareness creeps back into my head, my already open eyes are slowly refilled with a vision of my hands covering my foot from view. An infinite amount of seconds pass before I am reminded of my schedule and the ceaseless ticking of hands on the clock. I absolutely do not have time for this. I pull my hands away from my foot and appraise the situation. My toenail is pushed to a near 90 degree angle with my toe. Blood has almost entirely covered the front part of my foot and I am momentarily taken with the fancy that something has been chewing on it.

I can fix this problem. It's not that big of deal. It's just a toe. I reach down with my right hand and grasp the nearly severed nail between my fingers. I start to pull but the impossible slickness of the blood prevents me from adequately gripping it. Vaguely annoyed with the whole situation, I stand up and hobble my way back to the kitchen and to the toolbox I have stowed under the sink. There's zero time to spare on cleaning the prints I am leaving on the floor. I guess it's something that she can't fault me for, given the situation. I withdraw the pliers from the plastic case and return it to it's spot. Solution in hand, I make my way back to the harsh light of the bathroom.

My eyes are bloodshot. I notice this, looking into the mirror when I enter the room and I sigh with disgust over one more thing added to my list of problem areas. Things just aren't looking good for our perfect evening together. There's simply too much to do. Breaking eye contact again, I sit down on the toilet seat, pulling my foot up onto my lap and gripping the pliers in my hand. This has got to be quick. "I haven't even finished brushing my teeth yet" I think as I stare at the toothbrush that I left on the counter. Cursing to myself in annoyance and letting my anger be my strength, I close the metal of the tool down over the piece of my body that I no longer have any emotional attachment to and I finish the job that the wall and inertia only started. A spurt of blood follows the force up onto my chest and I am instantly grateful that I took my shirt off. Curiosity claims my eyes and I hold up the pliers to get a better look. Nothing very attractive about a bloody toenail with a long stringy piece of skin still attached to it.

I drop the nail into the wastebasket and place the pliers on the counter. Unfortunately, the way this evening is going I might need them again. Not much time but I force myself to make a quick cursory examination of my foot. It's amazing how much losing one nail makes the rest of them look in dreadful need of a clipping. Oh well, I will just have to wear socks. It's bleeding pretty profusely however so I decide I need to at least bandage myself up. I grab a bottle of alcohol from my basket of useful items and stand up facing the sink again. I was never very good at balancing but I force myself to place my foot under the sink and pour the contents of the alcohol bottle out onto my bloody problem. Not cleaning the thing would create even bigger problems in the future. I'm going to have to try my luck with gauze as soon as I get out of the shower.

Finally finished with that debacle, I get both feet on the ground again and reclaim my toothbrush. Forgotten is the canker sore of three minutes ago whose sodium treatment is now being replaced with a minty paste. My eyes stare once again into their red twins across the void of glass and I resolve to get the eyedrops out next. More than a little upset with the pace that I am making, I brush harder and quicker than usual. It isn't long before a new taste of salty thick starts to mix with the gel in my mouth. A vague semblance of life stirs in my nerves once again and for the last time as I feel a peculiar sort of pain in my gums. It's almost the exact opposite of a tickle. Where as one is a degree of pleasure in such a way that you can't handle it, the one I am feeling now is a hint of pain so different that I don't want to stop experiencing.

Once again I allow myself to float away on that wave of pain. Lulled into a form of peace by the rhythmic movements of my hand controlling the toothbrush and the sweet wintergreen blood flowing from my teeth and swirling around my tongue. I want nothing more than to make this feeling last and to keep swallowing my lifeblood. The red froth building up around my lips is the lubricant of a euphoria moving through my body that I will never again know. Before, when my world was changed, my nerves were dealt a fatal wound. Even now as I feel more intensely than ever before, they are in their deathspasm. Slowly, so slow I don't notice it happening, all of the sensations I will ever feel fade away.

My eyes open and I return to the mirror, focusing on the pinkish foam traveling down my reflection's chin. As I stare, I notice that it takes almost three seconds for the liquid pooling on the end of a whisker to form a drop and fall into the sink. Three seconds that I don't have. I allow myself a small giggle with that thought. I do still have a lot of things to do. I haven't even shaved yet.

I turn back to the cabinet and reach up to the top shelf to pull down my electric clippers. I have two sets. It wouldn't do to contaminate one with the other. Grabbing the first box, I pull it down and begin to extract its contents and place them on the counter. As I am doing this I notice a particular discolouration of the skin on the ringfinger of my left hand. Looking a bit closer I notice that I have a wart. Isn't that just perfect? Another waste of time. Not a moment is spent thinking about this problem however. I know exactly what to do. I am a bit remorseful that I used the last of the alcohol on my toe. I once again rummage through my basket and retrieve a package of those sharp things I was so careful to avoid earlier. This won't be as sterile as I would like for it to be, but I have never used these razorblades before so it should be okay. I will just remember to clean it later.

I pull out one of the blades and return the package back to the ever-useful basket. Other people waste time and money with those wart-remover kits or get the doctor to get rid of it. All one really has to do is a bit of digging. The difficult part is that a razorblade is a slicing tool, not so good for digging. A scalpel would have been much better but this will have to do.

At first I only shave the top of the thing off. It's in one's instincts to be sparing when in these kinds of circumstances. This will pass. As I get more used to the blade in my hand, things get easier. I slice off the first layer of skin and I am left with a hole and a strange plant bulb of brownish flesh inside. There's also a distinct lack of blood. My cutting has exposed the cavity of the rot. All that's left is to dig out the heart of the thing. I force the corner of the blade down deeper under the mass and begin to cut in a circle around it, making sure to get everything or else it will regrow. When I pull it away, the blood returns and fills the cavity. For a moment I am dismayed. The problem I am left with is the blood. She will notice and will undoubtedly assume that I had a wart.

I do not allow myself to be disheartened for very long. I have the tools right here to fix this problem for good. Holding my finger over the sink, I move my razorblade around the base of the skin close to the hand. Slicing down right next to the joint several times, I finally reach bone. Tracing the blade in a circle around my finger over and over again, I sever all of the tendons until I can see the white of my goal. I dispose of the blade and grip my finger in my right hand. Impatiently I twist and pull the finger until I hear a satisfying crack and place it in the trash next to my toenail. Finally I am making progress. I just may finish all of these problem areas before she gets here.

Once again my hand returns to my basket and I pull out my eyedrops and tweezers. Cocking my head back and holding the metal to my nostril, I grip one particularly long nosehair and pull it out. Allow myself time for one glance. Half a inch of annoyance tied to a patch of bloody mucus. A trickle of red running down my upper lip. Well why not? I am bleeding from everywhere else.

I hate eyedrops. It's never easy for me to trick myself into getting them in. I reason to myself with the fact that she will be seeing my bloodshot eyes if I don't do this. Would I want her to think that I am on drugs? I'm close now. Almost done. I just have to put these in and then trim myself. I sigh with resignation and hold the droplets up above my head, staring straight up at a specific part of the ceiling so I don't see it coming when my hand squeezes. Alien liquid invades me and I pull away in disgust.

Frowning, I blink several times and stare again at my reflection. For a moment all I can see is a dark form and the red splatter of blood on my chest. It looks to be getting larger, enveloping me.

The blur passes and things return to their correct proportions. My foot is a red mass I should have written off a long time ago, the hole where my finger was is dripping a constant stream of crimson onto the floor and my face looks like I just ate a rare steak without a fork, but my eyes should be white pretty soon. I can't believe I let my hair get this long. It's kind of embarrassing.

After I mentally berate myself a bit longer, I return to sorting out my clippers. As I said, two pair. One for my face and one for everywhere else. I guess I will do the face last. It doesn't look as bad as the rest. I should get out the little bottle of oil and lubricate the blades. These things don't last very long if you forget to do that. I tend to buy the cheap stuff if I can. However I just don't have enough time. I guess I will just spend 10 bucks on another set if these don't make it. I plug the clippers in and flick the switch. My bathroom is filled with the sound of a motor grinding. I don't remember them being this loud last time. I guess I really will have to buy more pretty soon. It's always something. I just hope they last until I finish tonight.

I start with my armpits. They don't have to be completely hairless. I just don't like this big mass sticking out. A quick once over should suffice. As I lift up my shoulders I notice the clippers vibrating more than usual. Shit can nothing go right tonight? I work my way through a downward motion on one arm and then the other, the right being a little trickier than the left as I only have four fingers to work with on that hand. Next I do a speedy shave across my stomach and start to work my way down. I trim the hair off of my waist and above my penis without incident. The problem begins when I am holding myself to one side so I can get my scrotum. It's an incredibly complicated process cutting the hairs on the fragile skin covering your testicles. No matter how much I shift around I can never seem to get them all. Starting to get frustrated I press down on the clippers and watch the flesh go into the blades.

I imagine it makes you feel something like watching a lawn mower about to run over something juicy. Anticipation builds in you. You want to see it chewed up. You want to see the pieces thrown this way and that.

Blood sprays everywhere. My clippers start to spark and smoke and I smell food burning somewhere. Still I press inward. Skin and hair and blood are trimmed away, never to bother me again. The testicle rolls away and out of the skin sack and I sever the tendons connecting it to me. I keep cutting until the clippers stop working and then I pull out what was left hanging down there and throw it away. I unplug the clippers and put them back in the box. I guess I will try cleaning them later because I really don't have time right now. I'm almost done. I just need to trim my beard up a little bit. Replacing the box back in the cabinet. I get the other clippers down and start to repeat the process. All I really need is to get the fuzz growing down my neck.

Flipping the switch again, I listen for the motor. Not as loud this time. Good, I only need to buy one pair. Not that big of deal. I lift my chin up at my reflection and lift the razor to my neck. The vibration almost tickles my skin. Almost because I can't feel it. Not anymore. I have to be careful. I always tend to take too much and then I just have to shave the whole thing to keep from looking ridiculous.

Pushing the blade against my throat, I feel the skin begin to part and a blood trail forms down my neck. I stare into my white eyes in the mirror while the electric grooming kit saws at my throat. I wonder how long it took for me to get ready? God knows I had enough setbacks. I feel something slippery pull away from my hand and red begins to flow freely from my neck. I quickly pull away the clippers to keep them from getting soaked and place them on the counter.

I step into the shower and turn on the water. I don't think hot water would be good for my foot so a cold shower will have to do. I close my eyes and let the dirt and hair drain away from my body. Leaning against the tile, I realize that I am getting tired. Well she knows I don't usually stay up so late so she shouldn't be upset if the date isn't that long. I watch the water going down the drain. First there is a little blood mixed in, then more and more. Soon, I don't see water anymore. I bend down to turn off the shower and have a hard time standing back up. My hand pushes back the curtain and gropes in my cabinet for a towel. No sooner do I start to dry off when my doorbell rings. I look over at my clock laughing softly to myself. It's a good thing she was a little late or else I wouldn't have been ready.