Love is itself a form of knowledge – Gregory the Great
I get kind of ill at ease and claustrophobic when I have to de-bug my car and run it through the carwash. Usually I have tons of school texts to flip through to busy myself, but I found myself lacking a book yesterday. I did, however, have two cameras, so I took pictures.
My first self-portrait in my twenty-eighth year.
I was thinking about beauty and how my own attitudes have relaxed a great deal in the past three or four years just this morning as I was in a checkout line at the grocery store. I had nothing to do for two or three minutes, and my eyes wandered over to the same nauseating headlines that beauty magazines recycle again and again to American women. This particular one was about doing your eye makeup in such a way that “your man” would not be able to resist you. Really, I’m all for a little effort in the appearance area, I am, but not as an ends to a means. There seems to be a spectrum on where women fall, and whereas I was once at the other end, willing to doll myself up with the attitude of “I hope somebody thinks I’m pretty,” I’m officially at the other end, whether naked-faced or not, where my cohorts and I have the attitude, “This is what I look like. Deal with it.”
It’s been a pretty long couple of days for me. I knew it would be, what with my parents going to Africa for my brothers’ wedding and me staying behind (the cost of airfare is unbelievable). I’m a little down about it, honestly, and I’m just ready for him to be home. Nearly three years is long enough to have been separated.
I don’t do well with “down time” as a general rule. I get antsy and restless.
I like to have things to look forward to, and I got one on Sunday night. Sunny Day Real Estate is back together and touring. I’ll be seeing them in October. I was feeling especially emo and pulled out some records today to listen to, pictured here.
After a long week, I was hoping to lie back on the couch and Have a Think to go with my Hell’s Belle (Raleigh, NC’s own Big Boss Brewing Company). No such luck. That seemingly jet-fuel propelled brown streak there at the bottom of the image is Maddie Mae, running lap after lap through the house.
