The Sixth Year Stone I’ve come to terms with. I am not alone. It even happened to my skinny friend (though, as if to purposely irritate me, you’d never guess to look at her). I’m fine. It happened and I can make it unhappen. That is absolutely fine. On a more disturbing note, you could do join-the-dot drawings on my forehead, such is the extent of my spottiness.
Seriously. It’s hideous. My skin has always been my Go-To Guy when I want to make myself feel nice about my otherwise mediocre (at best) appearance. And now it’s gone to poo and merde. Of course, my compulsive need for a fringe probably has a lot to do with it. Blocking pores and the like. So ta-ta, Fringey! I’ll see you again when my forehead decides to right itself. Until then, no more fringeyness and plenty of water and fruit. And sandpaper off the dead skin what is present. Or is that too extreme?
Also, my nails are very weak lately. So I sort of possibly maybe chewed ‘em off altogether yesterday evening while watching Garden State. Oh well. I’m going to paint them yellow. They will be short but charming. And cheerful.
As if to add insult to injury to my poor dilapidated body, I am ill. Not even hungover. But snotty nosed and sneezy. Eww. My immune system has also gone to poo and merde this year, though not half as much as some of my usually very healthy friends and it’s them I feel sorry for. This Leaving Cert thing really takes the good out of ya.
On a hugely unrelated note, I miss my blonde hair. As soon as this nightmarish and mammoth table quiz is done, I’m going ginger. It is my birthright.