The Dog is the Speckled One, Not Me!

I’m not going to lie and say it’s been a smooth week. It hasn’t been smooth at all. Really, there have been no tragedies or things that should completely derail my life, like aliens beaming my garage up into their saucer or my ears dropping off my head like autumn leaves. I have a snug little home, even if my tenant is leaving suddenly and I’m scrambling to find a replacement. I’m healthy, and so is my family. My job is very secure, and I’m good at it. Report cards are due Monday, but it’s Daylight Savings Weekend so I get an extra hour to work on them. A pack of blessings light upon my back, indeed.

Unfortunately, all the crazy stuff going on, particularly me trying to crunch the numbers to figure out how I will pay the mortgage if my tenant doesn’t pay November rent on Monday like she’s promised, have taken a bit of a toll on my body. All my joints ache because I’m not sleeping worth a damn, and definitely for way too brief a stretch each night. There’s a kink in my neck from hunching over my monster stack of marking, and significant portions of my left hand are bright pink from a pen that went kablooie last night.

Sorry. I wasn’t planning to whine about all that other crap. It’s pretty minor. I fired up my laptop tonight to gripe about something far more aggravating.

All this stress has made my face break out. Generally, I have terrible skin: rosacea, pores that threaten to turn into wading pools in a heavy rain, that kind of thing. I have a prescription goop for my rosacea that subdues it enough that I can cover it with a little makeup-based finesse, and I baby my skin to keep it from flaring. This week, though, I look like the “before” photo on a pimple cream commercial. I had a pimple the size of a Skittle on my chin, and it was one of those nasty, throbbing suckers than can’t be popped. It was like a bad roommate: I couldn’t sleep at night because the stupid thing wouldn’t stop talking. Unfortunately for me, it moved in and brought everyone it knew.

I am 29 years old! Pimples are supposed to be part of teenage life, like asking for a date on a piece of folded notebook paper or wearing electric green eyeliner. I was supposed to stop breaking out when I got a driver’s license, or at least when I finished my degree and got a grown up job. Apparently, my hormones didn’t get that memo, and my pores have a party every now and again, when I am under too much strain, too little sleep, and really don’t have extra time to devote to magic with my concealer brush.

This is one of those weeks. If I were a pattern, I’d be swiss dot. If I were a insect, I’d be a ladybug. If I were an ice cream, I’d be –well, I don’t really know what I’d be, but it would be something almost no one orders, like rum raisin.

My face hates me. Why can’t one of the other parts of puberty linger instead, like living a life with zero cellulite or
suddenly going up a cup size?

copyright 2011:


4 Comments Add yours

  1. Sorry you’re having such a bad week! Sounds like you need to cuddle with your Blue Speckled Pup for the weekend!

    1. I cuddled with both him and my sweetie, and that helped to take the edge off.

  2. Leslie says:

    Awwwww, poor Kay! My face has been the same lately. I got a second job for some extra funds, and working 6 days a week was tiring. I started chugging back redbull and coffee (not together lol) and my face started looking like it did at 14! Not cool. not cool at all! I quit the redbull, but can’t seem to shake the coffee. That helped a little. I’m hoping the rest clears when I’m back to just the one job.

    Lock yourself away in a hot bath with a book, its always nice read about someone else’s life for a little bit. Even if they may not be real 🙂

    1. Redbull and coffee in the same day? They’d need a spatula crew to scrape me off the ceiling if I got into that much caffeine!

      I did have the hot bath treatment last night, and it certainly did help. Here’s to less stress in the future for both of us.

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