A Case Of The Uglies
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It’s been an ugly week. At some point last Friday afternoon I contracted the common cold and what followed visually wouldn’t exactly make this year’s Christmas card. At one point I looked at myself in a dusty mirror and leapt immediately into the shower where I attempted to baptize my own beauty with a complete reset. Putting on makeup when you have to blow your nose every three minutes isn’t the wisest thing I’ve ever done. But it got me thinking about the way I look, and why the way I look can trigger me so.
Get offended by the word ugly somewhere else. We use it here. I earn my living on an internet that reminds me, hourly, that I’d be making more money if I presented better visually, but that I’d also be spending every dime of that money to present better visually, so when I use the word ugly please understand that I’ve earned it. I don’t use it to degrade myself, I’m fantastic. But I do think an exploration of that word is helpful if we’re going to heal anything, and what’s the point of exploring the shit we’ve picked up over the years if we’re not also willing to lint roll it off our sleeves, amiright?