When I was younger, I wanted braces and glasses. (I always thought they looked cool.) I have glasses (and love them) and I had braces on my top teeth for six months. Childhood dreams achieved.
Now, I want freckles and red hair. Mainly because they look wonderful in photos. Red hair is the sign of a soul full of fire and freckles are the tiny marks left behind when magic has come into contact with skin. Red hair and freckles are magic made real.
I will never have freckles and I highly doubt red hair would look good on me. This is something I have come to accept. Begrudgingly.
I am not stereotypically pretty (if such a thing exists, for the sake of argument, we are saying it does). I have never been told I should model, and I have never had much attention because of the way my face looks. I am awkward; one of my eyes is bigger than the other (a thing which is alarmingly obvious in the photograph on my driving license), my hair is always scraggly and split at the ends even when I’ve just had it cut, my shoulders are wonky and my neck is slanted. I have a birthmark on my lip (which I adore) that everyone assumes is a bruise or a cut, it goes a deeper blue when I am cold. My eyebrows are very rarely perfectly plucked and I am terrible at most make-up (winged eyeliner, however, I can do… sometimes), I don’t wear it often. I don’t moisturise my face when I should, and I very rarely remember to use the fancy, expensive face stuff I bought for myself for my twenty-sixth birthday.
Sometimes I don’t brush my hair, instead, I put it in a bun or plaits when it’s wet and leave it like that for a day until it looks like I’ve put a lot of effort in to make my hair wavy or curly. My hair hates being washed too much, and certain shampoo makes it feel gummy and disgusting (now that I’ve worked out what particular shampoo that is, I avoid it). Dry shampoo is my friend.
During the week, I put absolutely no effort into my outfits, I pull a top and some leggings off of the giant mound of clothes on my bedroom floor that I really should sort through and hang up. I get up 15-30 minutes before I need to leave for work. I very rarely clean my glasses, and am permanently seeing the world through a smear. As soon as I get home, now that I own a cat who has very fluffy fur and definitely no regard for where he sheds it, I change into lounge pants and one of my designated ‘cat tops’. When it’s cold, I wear a lot of hats and my hair goes even more flat than it already is (I have very fine hair, I often wish that one day I will wake up and it will be gloriously thick and shiny but it won’t, and I will always look like I am going slightly bald even though I’m not), sometimes I wear my hats all day, right up until I go to bed, until my head feels like it’s still wearing it even an hour after I’ve taken it off.
I procrastinate like nothing else. I get determined to do things and then find ways to sabotage myself. Updating this blog being one of those things (but in my defense, have you ever tried to blog on a computer that is attached to a giant TV across the other side of the room? I have, and it is neither pleasant nor enjoyable – now I have a beautiful little laptop which is just for blogging and writing and all manner of wordy things.), I am, once again, going to attempt to do better.
My nails are always stubby and short and bitten jagged, even though I adore the look of black nail varnish. That is another thing I am trying to curb. So far it’s working, soon my nails will be painted black and I will look that little bit more snazzy and that little bit closer to the me that I see in my head, who looks a little bit witchy and a little bit cool and like she has her life together. (Sometimes I have the oomph to look like that. Sometimes.)
When I was younger, I didn’t appreciate the paleness of my skin and the dark brown of my hair. Even though, in my more whimsical moments, I want to paint myself with freckles (I really should learn how to do the freckle make-up, another bit of girlishness that I will be absolutely terrible at), I love being pale and I love having dark hair. (But that doesn’t mean I won’t dye it again, I proabably will.) I love my face sometimes, and I love it when my hair dries just right.
I don’t know how to end blog entries, especially long overdue blog entries.