Monday, Oct. 7
Three days from my goal and how am I feeling about not wearing makeup?
Tired. Simply tired.
What does that mean (besides 3 kids 1 husband 2 soccer teams 1 gymnast, blah blah blah)? Well, to start off it means that I haven’t written on my blog in six days (that’s almost a week!) because I’ve been SO busy! It means I’ve started working from home (and no, not the kind of work I had previously been doing—as in revising my two novels, short stories, and poems—and “working” on all that without pay or even the mild satisfaction of finishing anything or getting anything published, although (yes, another set of parantheses because this is a total tangent) I have submitted a poetry collection to a contest and working on my writing even without pay is totally rewarding in itself!). So, yea, I’ve been working from home for an actual real-world job and while it is sucking the time out of my day, it is helping me feed my three kids and husband and might even help me buy that makeup I’ve run out of at the end of this thing (which, did I mention is in 3 beautiful days?).
But, yes, I am tired. Oh. So. Tired. But how do I really feel (I mean, really really for reallllll feel)?
I am proud that I’ve come this far. That I even had the courage to start out, because let’s face it, the first week was rough. I mean, cry in my closet, hide in my car sort of rough. And now, well, I don’t really care AS much about being bare-faced. I feel, in some ways, that I’m making a stand by going a la naturale. My complexion cleared up, but then flared, and it’s not lookin’ all that great today (or yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that). So maybe that’s why I also haven’t written on my blog. Maybe I was afraid of whining and crying about how insecure I STILL feel about myself, even though I SHOULD feel more accepting.
I DO feel more accepting, but I STILL would prefer to wear makeup, but if my complexion WERE clear I would definitely NOT wear makeup (well, just for special occasions). But (more truth) my complexion is NOT clear, and when I can wear makeup again, I think it will make me feel better. And yes, in a superficial way. But a superficial way that also makes me feel better inside, which then isn’t superficial, is it?
And doesn’t it take just as strong of a person to admit that, than it does to refrain from conforming to society’s ideal of what is beautiful? Or (at the very least) doesn’t it make it okay that it’s my own personal choice to wear makeup?
I don’t know. I feel like I’m just going through the same old circular argument that’s been driving round my head for the last, well, twenty-seven days. So instead, I will liken this blog post to personal experience from today. A few mommy melt-down moments, if you will (of course you will, you have to, you’ve read this far, might as well humor me/yourself and read on).
While cooking dinner, trying to gather my thoughts for writing, I came up with three things that struck me.
1) Perfectionism. I really really really like things to be perfect. I mean, really. Like, it drives me crazy when things are askew. The spoons should all rest in the same direction, should have the same shiny-ness (no water spots or crusted food). The chairs should be pushed in to the same depth at the dining table. The shoes should be by the door, parallel to each other, ready to be stepped into. I’m not OCD (well, not diagnosed at least…). I just like things to be all in their right places, and look aesthetically pleasing. And I think this is why I feel such pressure to look “put together” myself. In the same way a dirty house drives me crazy, a disheveled appearance is equally displeasing. As in, makes my skin crawl and shoulders tense (that’s normal, right?).
2) Dull knives. I don’t know what this means, but my knives are always super dull. Does it mean I have poor quality knives? Does it mean I should sharpen them with that long poky sword thing that came in the butcher block set (don’t look at me like that! I can sense your judgement!)? Is it actually safer that my knives are dull (because whenever I’ve gotten new knives I’ve immediately sliced a finger or hand, and boy do those cuts bleed, holy moly)? What does it mean…dull knives?
3) Video games. I really hate video games sometimes. They suck time away from loved ones. They force me to yell. They make me resentful of doing dishes and cooking dinner (and all I can think is, boy, I wish I had that much time to do something I want to do that benefits no one but me, put hands on hips and stomp one foot, then stick out tongue). Oh, I’m so snarky (insert frowny face here), this is not my best quality. In fact, it’s when I’m grumpy that people REALLY don’t like me. I mean, they don’t cut much slack at the not-so-nice Aimee. I mean, if I’m not nice, people don’t like me, and if you read my previous entry about fear, then you would know that’s my greatest fear—not being liked. And that is my rant on video games that are senseless and graphic and expensive and steal your loved ones (this scene has been dramatized for your entertainment).
So, three more days of no makeup. Not that I’m counting. And then, do you think I’m a bad person if I go right back to wearing makeup? Because I guess I really shouldn’t care. I should just do whatever I want. Whatever makes me happy. Maybe that’s the real lesson in this self-inflicted social experiment. But how do you care less when you are obsessed with caring? (Sorry, sh*t just got weird up in here (my brain, the blog, the punctuation, etc)).