I think that I am dieing.
No, really, death is upon me in its crimson shroud.
My face has still not returned to normal, as of 11:54 Thursday night. I even ran out to Publix at about 10:30 to buy some Benadryl to help counter the allergic reaction spawned by the devilish concoction of sunblock and face cream. Really, is being sun conscious and wanting to moisturize a fitting crime for such an end? Alas, I am being punished for the little vanity that I had cultured at the purchase of my new Chanel lipstick (in Tornado). I suppose to counter such wrongdoing I must give to charity or become a nun to wipe the slate clean of my wrongs.
This is reminiscent of the incident that occured a few months ago - I was at school buying the greasy cardboard that insists upon masquerading as pizza when the lunch lady counted out the incorrect change at two dollars to my benefit. Figuring that this was simply the universe's way of evening out my 'F' on my pre-cal quiz that morning, I said nothing and instead returned to my friends. Monica immediately pointed out that I was callous, wrong, and shallow. I then spent the weekend giving money to every homeless person I saw in an attempt to redeem myself karmicly.
So, in order to deal with potentially remaining a slightly less pleasant version than Anthony Hopkins for the entirety of my remaining years, forgetting any kind of romantic future, college life, or book deals and instead having to move to Liberia where I could constantly wrap my face in linen, I did yoga and tried to concentrate on inner peace. Just as I was feeling energised, serene, and calm, neutral towards an angry, empty world that holds no place for hunchback equivalents, I passed a mirror and sadly looked at what had once been passable and, I daresay, at least marginally pleasing to look at.
Goodbye sweet youth and beauty so fleeting, I have no use for you now.
No, really, death is upon me in its crimson shroud.
My face has still not returned to normal, as of 11:54 Thursday night. I even ran out to Publix at about 10:30 to buy some Benadryl to help counter the allergic reaction spawned by the devilish concoction of sunblock and face cream. Really, is being sun conscious and wanting to moisturize a fitting crime for such an end? Alas, I am being punished for the little vanity that I had cultured at the purchase of my new Chanel lipstick (in Tornado). I suppose to counter such wrongdoing I must give to charity or become a nun to wipe the slate clean of my wrongs.
This is reminiscent of the incident that occured a few months ago - I was at school buying the greasy cardboard that insists upon masquerading as pizza when the lunch lady counted out the incorrect change at two dollars to my benefit. Figuring that this was simply the universe's way of evening out my 'F' on my pre-cal quiz that morning, I said nothing and instead returned to my friends. Monica immediately pointed out that I was callous, wrong, and shallow. I then spent the weekend giving money to every homeless person I saw in an attempt to redeem myself karmicly.
So, in order to deal with potentially remaining a slightly less pleasant version than Anthony Hopkins for the entirety of my remaining years, forgetting any kind of romantic future, college life, or book deals and instead having to move to Liberia where I could constantly wrap my face in linen, I did yoga and tried to concentrate on inner peace. Just as I was feeling energised, serene, and calm, neutral towards an angry, empty world that holds no place for hunchback equivalents, I passed a mirror and sadly looked at what had once been passable and, I daresay, at least marginally pleasing to look at.
Goodbye sweet youth and beauty so fleeting, I have no use for you now.
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