I just… I can’t believe I did this. I’m still sitting in the car, actually, in the school parking lot, watching all the other parents walk their kids in, and the *rage* bubbling up inside me is just… it’s something else. I’m furious at myself, at this whole ridiculous situation, and honestly, a little bit at my son, who just looked at me like I’d grown a second head when I said he had to go in alone. He’s five, for crying out loud, he needs me to walk him in, but I just *couldn’t* do it. I just absolutely, categorically could not bring myself to step out of this vehicle. And why? Because my hair looks like a bird’s nest, that’s why. Not even a particularly artistic bird’s nest, just a tangled, matted mess that screams “I gave up on life at 6 AM.” It’s stupid, I know it is. I’m a grown man, a *father*, and I’m letting my vanity, my utterly absurd vanity, dictate whether or not I fulfill a basic parental duty. But God, the thought of walking in there, past all the other parents, the ones who always look so put-together, even at 8 AM, with their perfect yoga pants and their blow-dried hair and their little designer coffee cups… I just couldn’t face them. Not like this. Not looking like I rolled out of a ditch. This isn’t some anonymous city where nobody knows you, you know? This is a small town. *Everyone* knows everyone. And if word gets around that the new stay-at-home dad can’t even be bothered to brush his hair for school drop-off, well, what does that say about me? What does that say about how I’m handling things? And it’s not just a bad hair day, is it? It’s a whole *vibe*. It’s a lack of effort, a sign of surrender. And it’s not like I don’t *want* to look presentable. I *do*. I used to, anyway. Back before… well, before I traded in my nice work shirts for spit-up stained t-shirts and before every single morning became a frantic race against the clock just to get everyone fed and dressed and out the door. My wife, bless her, she just laughed when I tried to explain it to her over the phone. Laughed! She said I was being ridiculous, which, yes, I know I am. But it’s not just ridiculous, it’s… it’s humiliating. To be this paralyzed by something so utterly trivial. It makes me feel like I’m losing my mind a little bit, like the person I used to be is just… gone, and this unkempt, anxiety-ridden shell is all that’s left. I still have to pick him up later, and I still haven’t moved. I don’t even know what I’m going to do then.