You know, I'm jealous of people that can just wear like, make-up. All the time, every day, they wake up and they brush their teeth and they put on make-up.
I'm just in awe that someone feels comfortable enough to wear that shit in the first place.
Can't they feel it on their face? Don't they want to scrub it away, ashamed that they care about their appearance so much, because appearances shouldn't matter all that matters is that you are comfortable in your skin your clothes don't make a difference win people over with your wit and shining personality (this is very, very hard, because I have a sneaking suspicion that I am somewhat abrasive) and no one cares what you look like, and if they do they aren't worth thinking about...don't people repeat that mantra in their head every morning when they look in the mirror, and feel ashamed, that yes, those things matter...FUCK YOU, MIRROR. And then, like with so many other things, I have to remind myself that I'm no illusion, and I am stronger than reflective glass.
But seriously, sometimes people look so pretty. How did they learn how to be comfortable and pretty at the same time? I wish I could do that.
What happens when they take it off? Do people get angry, and think it's a dirty, nasty trick? I hope not. This metamorphosis, it's a gift, changing at will, even with the aid of powder and brushes.
I can wear costumes to a party, sure, or face paint on Halloween. Sometimes I wear mascara. And chapstick, I fucking love chapstick. Chapstick is pretty much the greatest thing I have in my purse. I could eat it like candy. But I do not, because that would be gross and uncouth. Besides, then what am I going to put on my lips?
But I can't do make up. It feels like a lie. Why do I have such fear of trying to be pretty? What will people think of me? I will look like a freak, I know, and then everyone will talk about that one time that Rassles wore make-up and how she looked like Pennywise (or worse: Tammy Faye), and what, did she think she could actually be pretty? Haha, silly Rassles, and her silly ideas. She thinks she knows everything, she thinks she's so funny.
I know, I know. Shut up. I know. Who cares. Whatever. All that matters is what I think. Do what makes me comfortable. I am doing that. But that doesn't mean I'm still not crazy jealous of all of those people who can just be pretty, every day, because we are supposed to be pretty, and they're just like, "okay" and then they are, how do they do that?
It blows my effing mind. I wish I was trained that way, I wish I raised myself on magazines that weren't about horses or mountains or movies because I'm so far away from everyone, and how did I get all the way over here, and where did this fucking wall of rocks come from?