There is something so stupid about owning and using pimple cream and your first bottle of anti aging shit. Why can’t I just gracefully enter my 40s without acne. Why is acne not giving up on me? I don’t have a “problem” with it where I would need to invest in ProActiv like most pop stars, but a pimple or two are NEVER welcome.
Forty years, wow. I remember when a 40 was only a drink back in the 90s. When I moved from South Dakota to Minnesota, leaving behind my happily ever after and finding a buzz to be a better companion.
Somewhere in between that happily ever after and the beginning of the relationship with the buzz, I lost sight of everything I wanted to be, who I was in life, who I meant to be. I hit this spiral from those dreams in puberty of a Donna Reed family to coating all what I then saw as failure of the perfect Nick at Night family with alcohol.
So now here I am, almost 40, still using pimple cream and cracking open a small bottle of wrinkle cream for the first time in my life, now wondering of a future that is uncertain. I don’t dream of being rich, I don’t care for money like that. I don’t care for the happily ever after as long as my children are taken care of. I just want this feeling of being at peace to last, I love being at peace. And I want these damn pimples to leave me the hell alone.
Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry. Ain’t gotta lie to kick it