Sigh. No, you’re not beautiful.

So you somehow have to contemplate juice cleanses while cutting out harmful carbs and exercising because your doctor is concerned ( you try not to recall that your doctor treated you like an immortal before your last birthday). But that's ok. This is the new normal.  You wake up and it's too exhausting trying to be pretty, trying to be sultry.  You start walking like you feel, which is often an 80 old man grumpily jog -walking home because, ew humans.  It's ok that you look like a male octogenarian. You never had much sex appeal anyway. 

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To The Women Who Have Seen My Scars And Still Called Me Beautiful

Normally, I'd have resented that kind of wholesome, healthy, glowy perfection. But I couldn't.  Her entrance had a very "North Witch" effect on me. She was stunning in a lulling way. Beautiful inside and out. Instead of resenting her, I trusted her.  She was professional, greeting me like an adult, instead of in a condescending manner like so many healthcare professionals were prone to do. 

New Year, Old Alter Ego

She doesn't need to work up the courage to get a blue dyed bob she just goes and does it. Not electric blue, she’s not rock and roll enough, she’s more indie rock. So it’s a faded blue, like an ombre grey blue. Either that or dusty rose tinted hair. Because she’s vintage. A little 60’s Twiggy, a little roaring 20’s, a little vintage steampunk, a little rococo.