The Unpleasant Vibration of a Cheap Electric Razor Against a Tired Jaw

Dear Delyara, It is 5:45 AM, and the mirror is showing me a face that looks like it belongs to someone ten years older than me. The cheap razor in my hand is buzzing with a high, whiny vibration that rattles the bones in my wrist and pulls at the stubble instead of cutting it cleanly. Shaving at this hour isn't an act of grooming; it’s an act of assembly. You are putting the public face together, smoothing over the rough edges of the night shift so you can present a neat, predictable version of yourself to the world. I rinsed my face with freezing water to stop the bleeding from a small nick, feeling the sharp sting wake up my brain, entirely resigned to the reality that the performance was about to begin all over again.