Comfortable With Conformity
I thought about my last entry and it just smacked of selfishness. But who I am kidding? I'm selfish. That, and I can't deal with loved ones getting ill. Last year, when my cousin died, I couldn't face her in the hospital, just to visit, because it was too hard for me. For me! She was the one dying, her thirty-year-old body deteriorating away. I stood by the Intensive Care Unit door, barely looking in, afraid to make eye contact.
Anyway, my mom seems a lot calmer, and I'm sure as hell not gonna ask her how she feels, but rather wait until she sees the doctor tommorow to get a medical opinion.
Sometimes I amuse myself. On one hand, I'm a real feminist bitch who frowns at excess vanity and shuns uncomfortanble clothing and high heels. On the other hand, I'm hopelessly feminine. My bathroom is cluttered with enough Bath & Body Works products to open up my own store. When I'm feeling particulary serene, I go around the apartment lighting aromatherapy candles. I just gave myself a pedicure. What is that about?
I have to admit I wasn't as wrapped up in my looks last night as I usually am. Wait-- I take that back. I think I dashed to j's bedroom mirror several times to do some self-surveillance. I suck. Well, at least I admit it. I am way too fucking vain sometimes.
I think about younger girls like S's 18 year old sister, M, and Laura (of "Rob and Laura", whom I've never met in person) who are vastly intelligent, sexually mature, and seem content and confident with themselves as well as being attractive-- without seeming pathetically vain like I do. Sheesh. It's as if they discovered the secret to a woman's self esteem at a young age, and I envy that. Ah, well. I may be considerably older, but I'm not exactly ancient. I have time to learn.
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