So, last we spoke...we being me and the voices in my head so far, since I'm really just nattering to myself for the moment but moving on....I was undertaking to bore you later. It's now later.
I guess I should probably tell you why I started blogging. Here's why, at least I think here's why:
I'm through talking to myself in the mirror
Don't pretend you've never done it. Who hasn't talked to themselves in the mirror, carried on whole arguments in fact? You know, the ones where you work out some whole brilliant argument for why you're right and they're not...and then you get to the point where you have the ACTUAL argument with the person and they fold straight off the bat. There you are, flummoxed and more than a little pissed off 'cos now you don't get to use all your brilliant arguments. But...I digress. You will find that I do that a lot.
To get to my point, and as Ellen De Generes would say, I do have one, it's that looking at my nearly-40 self in the mirror is depressing. One look at my face and my heart drops. Like, all the way, down into my foot, creeps out between my toes and throws itself in front of a train somewhere. My once flawless skin that so many envied is now puffy and mottled and has sun damage and I have skin tags around my eyes. My eyes, for heaven's sake! At least I don't have wrinkles. I'm too fat to have wrinkles. We'll get to my fat. It's not going anywhere in a hurry. Even my eyelids have sagged. I'm going to file that one under weight gain rather than ageing...because then I can actually do something non-surgical about it.
Did I mention the facial hair? Let's start with the moustache, shall we, you know, the one I shaved with a razor when I was 12 (I'm starting to see everything went to hell when I was 12) when Charles Abrahams teased me in class about having a moustache. Of course, he noticed immediately that I had shaved it and then teased me about NOT having a moustache. Sheesh. Let's cut to the cruelest cut of all (we'll leave the obvious - grey roots - out of it for now. So pedestrian). Yes, chin hair. Sigh. Do you have any idea how hard it is to stand in the mirror and have a serious conversation with yourself when you see stubble George Michael would kill for growing out of your chin and ..*gulp*....occasionally, those long, random ones that sprout on your neck. Excuse me, I may have to go and lie down in a dark room for a while until this horrid feeling passes. More later.