On that note, I have recently begun to dress myself. That is to say, as I near twenty-first century adulthood (at thirty) I have begun to actively seek clothing that I think will flatter me — compared with wearing whatever may fall into my possession. This has mostly come out of the sudden realization that I am an attractive individual. Or as someone recently described me, “tall, dark, and very handsome”. Not at all photogenic, to be certain. It’s like a rock concert; you have to be there. Just add a dash of the confidence of ownership, and bingo. Instant sexpot.

I’m calling my new look “glam fop”. I hope it doesn’t catch on, as I don’t often get this creative anymore.*

These days, half my mind is taken up with angst about things I can’t possibly change and another quarter with hope that I can change them anyway. It seems the only way around that is to say to hell with everyone. If I’ve only got so much energy, I might as well focus on bringing myself as much joy as I can. I’m so unused to paying active attention to what I want, and what I need. For me, life is like standing up after several hours of frustrating work and realizing you’ve had to pee since two o’clock, and that’s what’s been making you so cranky. Then finding the toilet is backed up.

At least now I look gorgeous while I’m doing it.

*: I’m strongly in the market for a pocket watch with a built-in mp3 player. I’d call it an “iFob”.