I’ve got so much to say but I don’t know where to start.
I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, heading the right way. I don’t even know if I started off right. Why is that? I haven’t even asked. I’m afraid to ask why and so I’m putting it off. Maybe after a month and see how it goes, I’ll think. Then the seasons pass and I’ll still be stuck in the same rut, rotting in the same hole and wondering where I’ve gone wrong.
My face is a mess. I don’t know what triggered all the sudden breakouts and I’m tired of looking at skincare ads and thinking when on earth can I get skin so clear, so smooth that I don’t need makeup. I need a skincare regime. That’s as far as I’ve planned out. That and drinking lots and lots of water. Gallons of it, tanks of it, just hose me down with H2O and I’ll be happy as a lark and bloated as a pufferfish. Coffee is off the list too. I think the sudden onslaught of pimples were brought on by my spontaneous change of diet. I’ll give it a month. See? It’s happening again. A month.
I don’t know what went wrong and I’m tired of being the same old me. I’m gonna dye my hair by the weekend or summat. Get a trim.
A trim. Which reminds me of a downright amusing conversation I heard in the lift. I was sandwiched between two 30 something women in the lift heading down when one of them lifted up her right hand, gestured with her two fingers in a snipping motion and told her colleague, “Remember to trim your bonsai.” And then she repeated it again. “Trim your bonsai.” My creative head was in front of me, silently bowing his head and shaking in spasms. I wasn’t faring any better. I was chuckling while pretending to be in a decent conversation with another colleague. And it got worse. “Cannot watch TV while trimming la.” “I remember it was flowering already.” I tell you, I was DYING for the lift doors to open so I can start laughing like an idiot with a screw loose.