today's flavor: S L I G H T D E P R ES S I O N anxiety : 1
agitation : 3
Typical to the heterosexual female construct, I delight in putting on pretty plumage. I love my clothes and my shoes, I love my eye shadow, I love my lipstick, my volumizing mascara, and that slightly glimmery dust I use for highlighting. I'm really vain, I know. If self-absorption was a crime, there would be a colossal amount of evidence against me.As much as I enjoy getting dressed and made up, there are days - and lots of them - that I don't at all. There are times like today when I wish it wasn't so important to even look presentable.
I wish for a lot of things related, honestly.
Such as, that it wasn't so hot here in the Philippines so it would never be too uncomfortable to layer clothes.
-- That my arms weren't so fat and that my skin wasn't so blemished so I would never have to layer clothes.
-- That changing from a short hairstyle to a longer one was as simple as changing shirts, so I wouldn't have to go through this ugly in-between stage.
-- That it wasn't so hard to pick out clothes that looked good on me.
Today was an awful day. The Hubby and I planned for it to be a good one, but things didn't work out as we hoped. He woke me up early so we could go to church early, say hello to people, start the day right. I got up early, had breakfast. I got stuck at the breakfast table. I just didn't have enough energy to carry on. I supposed at first that it was because I was sleepy, but it later became apparent that it wasn't that.
I managed to take a speedy shower. Good, I thought, I successfully made up for lost time. But I got stuck again at choosing my clothes. Anything I put on was just too warm to wear. I hated myself for having such fat arms and badly-scarred legs.
Besides, nothing I put on looked good on me. Everything was just wrong. I didn't possess the least bit of confidence today and wished we could just stay home.
We left the house way past 9 am, and we got to the service late. Very late. Not good for making a positive impression. I tried to be as happy as I could, even just for show, but I doubt it was convincing. I was in too much discomfort and was too psychologically misshapen to keep up appearances. I didn't have enough energy to focus on the preaching. I didn't even have the focus required to sit up straight or straighten my skirt. I did not have the presence of mind to be cordial, I did not like the feeling when I shook hands. I wanted to avoid the sea of people crashing around me.
To make things more interesting, the Hubby was cranky too. We argued as we were ordering lunch at this resto; the drama of the day was my walking out on him. He caught up with me eventually (I only went from the second floor to the first and across the mall after all), but all the walking tired me out. We made up (somewhat) and went to a second resto, where I almost fell asleep.
We spent the afternoon at Mom's. It felt alright there, I was in familiar territory. I was not jostled about by a crowd of strangers. I could peel off my jacket because it was safe to be chubby in that house. I calmed down listening to Mom's popcorn-style tales, and watching Top Model reruns.
I sort of wished the Hubby and I didn't have any other place to go to, because I was feeling too fatigued and out-of-sorts. I wasn't sure I could hold up. But we had one more rendez-vous.
We stopped by our place for a quick cleaning up and a wardrobe change. Once again, coming face-to-face with my closet felt like going against a Gracie. I knew was going to topple, submit and face defeat if I didn't think fast. I tried to think as fast as I could - which wasn't, really; I still got choked by indecision and the overall horrid feeling. I finally forced myself to settle for a full skirt and a matching blouse. It wasn't the best, not even the aptest of outfits, but it had to do. At least I no longer felt so warm. To feel a bit fresher, I washed my face. Then there was the ordeal about my hair. It wasn't a bad hair day; just bad hair, period. I felt so uncomfy all over and I just wanted my hair out of my face. I fished out a pretty headband from my box of accessories and slicked my unruly mane back with it. As my hair was too short, it stood on end, clumping with the leftover styling clay mixed with sebum and perspiration. I did not like that look. That look reminded me of formerly-attractive young mothers who have two or more toddlers and can't afford to give themselves a flattering haircut.
Then I noticed the smeared mascara. I washed my face earlier, right? I forgot that I was wearing mascara. The non-waterproof kind. Idiot. That look reminded me of Helena Bonham-Carter's character in Fight Club. But fat and brown, and without the constant smoke trail.
On the bright side, I guess I don't have to think hard of a costume for next Halloween.
Still I was running low on solutions. I wished heroin chic was acceptable mainstream fashion. Times like these, I miss the lazy, detached easiness of grunge. It's very draining to make oneself look presentable.
I opted to do away with the headband, reapplied product and styled my hair in messy, upright spikes. We were already late (again) and in an insane hurry. As for the smudged eye makeup, I just wiped it off with a tissue (I was in too much of a hurry to fetch a moist towelette, so I scraped my lower eyelids with toilet tissue) to make all the black stuff come off. I covered the remainder with dabs of liquid foundation. I ended up looking like I had eye bags - which wasn''t so bad, being better than having runny-mascara slasher-flick makeup.
As I sat in the car, I noticed my straps were all twisted, my top had a tiny tear and that I hadn't pulled the drawstring on my skirt tight enough. I adjusted what I could and went on with the day. I was a mess.
The Hubby and I were once again majorly late for this second meeting, so we didn't have much choice in seating. How convenient was it that I sat next to a lady with the same haircut, but with much neater styling? I looked like a major slob next to her. She was neatly dressed and she had thin arms too. And lovely skin. How could she manage to look so amazing while taking care of her baby? Life is so freaking unfair.
