For Halloween I was going to go out as a werewolf, so to aid in the authenticity of the werewolf look I've decided to let my hair grow.

Not shaving has left a void in my life that I have yet to fill with any other hobbies or habits. On Oprah the other day, obese women who've had their stomachs stapled and lost enormous amounts of weight because they can't consume any food larger than a walnut discovered their food addiction was replaced by binge drinking and promiscuous sex with strangers.

I've been drinking.

An inordinate amount of gray hair has come to the surface only adding to my depression. While cleaning my ears with a Q-Tip, it got tangled in a hair like a boat propeller on a fishing line.

With tweezers I tugged and felt the follicle root stinging deep in my brain. The hair had to be at least 6 in. long!

I know this has nothing to do with me not shaving, because I rarely shave my inner ear canal, but I feel some kind of chaos taking place in my body and mad, wild hairs are rioting on my flesh like dangerous tentacles of poisonous vegetation stretching for sunlight from a rainforest's darkened jungle floor.

My facial hair feels course like dry straw or sharp copper prongs of a computer chip. I could sand wood with my stubble. When I wake up in the morning I have to peel the pillow away from my Velcro face.

I don't think I'm going to be able to make it to Halloween. I'm scaring myself.