TODAY
I'm a little out of sorts, eyelids drooping, stiff neck aching, shoulders back, fingers attempting something akin to work--writing, web-surfing, and waiting.
It's days like these that I wonder if my bra is too visible through my blouse. I work with other people's children. Will my concealer wear thin, revealing my newest pimple? Will my deodorant continue doing its job? Will I remain alert enough to get me through the day, a day that requires me to use words and be at least semi-literate and intelligent? I wonder if I might be too self-absorbed. Nobody cares about my boobs or my makeup.
I wonder, though, am I the only one who wonders these things?
As a teenager, I was one of those girls who cried while getting ready for school. I wanted my hair to be straighter and my face to be anything other than ugly. Poor me. I wanted to stay home rather than face the other faces--those in the sea of teens who were undoubtedly judging and criticizing. But I went to school. And if I didn't see myself in any mirrors or windows, I was content to forget my face. I did math and wrote essays. I laughed with those who accepted me. I ate too much. I changed into my shorts and T-shirt and practiced hard. My volleyball team was stellar. And while I was a part of it, I still struggled to be stronger, harder, faster. But every day, I showed up and threw myself into the art of athletics.
We all need something to take our minds off of ourselves.
I can spend hours getting ready. I can pluck my eyebrows and other wayward facial hairs that magically sprout overnight. I can layer my eyeshadows: three colors--base, crease, highlight. And I can even use two complementary colors for the crease. I am crazy like that.
I can blow dry my hair and then twist a flat iron through it to make waves that actually turn out to be more like curls, which I detest. So then I can pull and style, hoping to achieve another kind of magic. Having this kind of time is a blessing and a curse.
And I can notice and attack the dry pieces of skin that flake and sit up on my skin like a never-ending sunburn peel. And I moisturize. This still happens.
And I can change my shirt five times.
And I can lovingly browse my jewelry collection before choosing the silver dangly ones that say "edgy" more than "Boho".
I know how to use up a mirror.
But what about those other days? The days with less time in them. The days with less motivation in them. I get ready in the dark. Am I peeling? Do I look ill on these no or low-makeup days? (I've been told I look sick on days like these). Then again, a student once told me my makeup was like that of a clown's (this, to be sure, is different than telling me I looked like a clown...?)
Am I dressed in unflattering lines and shapes? God forbid!
And yet I survive.
Don't we always survive? Well, except for the one time we won't. But let's not think about that. We have things to do. And if we don't, we'd better find some before we obsess too much. Being self-aware is next to godliness. But being self-absorbed can wreck us.
Having to manage my time makes me productive and useful. I am an active member of society, and while binge-watching The Handmaid's Tale can provide much uncomfortable entertainment (my favorite kind), if it's the only thing in my day other than my face, it makes Leslie a dull girl.
And then she'll have to think about ways to write about it, preferably without referring to herself in the third-person.
