I was going for exhausted, but got the crazy eyes again instead

As the month of intense beard growth begins to wind down, it's only natural to reflect back on what has passed.

If they're anything like me, the other men and woman of questionable beard growth on this site have all learned a bit about themselves along the way. I've learned that madness isn't really so bad. You fear it; you feel it encroaching on your consciousness like a malevolent being as the itch takes you to the breaking point, but then there's suddenly a soothing calm. The world almost begins to make sense to your addled brain. You post a poorly thought out retort that seems to inadvertently change the tenor of the shared website.

And then, there is the rush at the end; the Thanksgiving preparations, the push to make those hairs sprout just that little bit further, the pathetic begging for sponsorship, the waiting to be profiled in Better Know a Beard, the ridiculous word count that you have to maintain to finish your first NaNoWriMo after five failed attempts. This all conspires to bring you crashing back to reality and you begin to contemplate the razor.

The razor, the finely sharpened metal edge that bookends November. The warden of your beard, the savior of your neck. The razor awaits you at the end of your journey. Will you greet it? Will you shun it? Will you savor its bite as your skin, now unaccustomed to its daily machinations, offers up its very life blood to the razor?

December will tell. After just three more days.