actuality.log

My face has been, oh, what’s the technical term for it?, breakoutey since just before MIT, and it hasn’t gotten any better since then. There have been no substantial changes in my diet, sleep patterns, exposure to dust, … . I’m beginning to think it’s me responding to stress. On the surface of course, I am never excited or even the least bit tense, but I think my inner self is getting crushed under quite a bit of intense pressure. The pressure to keep going up in front of large crowds, the pressure to not screw up, and the pressure to keep doing things at a rate I am not comfortable with, just to have something worth talking about.

And many unsuccessful scrubs, face masks, cleansers, patches and such later… nipplenose.

Now’s as good a time to get comfy with a concealer as any other.

I don’t want to think, I don’t want to work, I don’t want to prepare, I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to synchronize my trips to maximize time with family, I don’t want to feel guilty about not doing a good job at that, I don’t want to feel anything, I don’t want to travel, I don’t even want to plan my holiday — I just want to curl up, and sleep.