I had cut myself while shaving. Straight razors are known for nicks and cuts. I generally put on some after shave lotion and move on. Today the lotion didn’t burn, or so I thought a few minutes later after I applied it;  I hadn’t bother to flinch at the buring senstation one experiences when applying alcohol to a cut. I went back and looked at my face in the mirror; I had shaved like a clumsy zombie. There were cuts all over my face and throat. I would be lying if I say I wasn’t alarmed.

I have picked up shaving with a straight razor last year, and gotten fairly good at it ever since, and nowadays I can’t really shave without a straight razor. The process is slow, but since I have some stubbly beard, I get great results. When I realised how many nicks I had today, I was surprised. I try to keep notes on how each shave turns out, for example angles of the blade, how I hold it, what kind of results I get etc. I tried to remember how I shaved today, and all I got was static. I couldn’t even remember that I was shaving. I was very preoccupied today morning, inconsolably sad, and with complete lack of any solace in the horizon.

I haven’t had many drowning-like experiences except in swimmiing classes. The trainer would take us to the deep end of the pool and throw us in deep water. It was a decent strategy in those days I presume. I remember, while struggling under water, sun would shine through the green algaenated water, I remember the taste of dirty water, the muffled sound of other kids frolicking and shouting. I would struggle for a few seconds, before a hand would come down and pull me up. I always dreaded that part of the class every day.

But today, no hand was coming down breaking the surface to pull me up. I have gotten better at swimming since those days of struggle, but I have never swam in these uncharted waters, the hadal zone of the mind.

After I had calmed down a little, I went to the bathroom and I looked at the mirror, straight into my owns eyes through a little gap in the fog. I had never noticed the wrinkles under my eyes, or the white stubbles poking, ever so slightly noticable. The bathoom still had humid after-shower walls and warm steam between the walls; I noticed the smell that I had left after the shower. The ghost of sadness, that took over me, never left the bathroom; It was still lingering in there. I could feel it. I took a look at my razor. It still had a little bits of skin and stubbles left on it. I turned on the hot water and ran water on the blade. The mirror had some fog left, I wiped it off with my hands. That was the moment I saw my ghost of sadness.