I have a zit on the very inside edge of my right eyebrow. I discovered said zit this morning, when I went to brush the hair out of my eyes and grazed it with my finger, causing a ridiculous amount of pain to radiate through my face. I'm not certain how it became quite that painful, especially since there was NOTHING there when I went to bed, but it's definitely there now, and letting me know about it every chance it gets. Damn zit.
Acne is one of the big lies of adulthood. When you're 15, and your skin is an oily, red, angry-looking mess, you take some teensy amount of comfort in the fact that it can't last forever. Some day, those little oil glands will shrivel up and dry out, and you won't need to grow your hair out so you can style it to cover as much of your face as possible. And yet, here I am, smack in the middle of my 30's, with a zit in my eyebrow that has roots growing into my brain, and its best friend on my jawline, large enough that I'm considering giving it its own name.
I'm still waiting, dammit.
I suppose, though, that if I'd known at 15 that I'd still be breaking out like this at 34, I'd have stayed in bed forever.
Being a grownup isn't all it's cracked up to be.
I'm happy to say that he's not very different in his adult life than he was when we were kids.
Okay, that's not *really* the truth. These days, he owns a very successful small business (two, actually, with a third just starting out) and manages, I think, to make it through most days without kissing women other than his girlfriend, something he wasn't so good at in high school.* He's a much more responsible 35-year-old than he was 17-year-old, which is as it should be.
But on a very basic level, he's the same friend I met in Ms. Dunn and Kirsch's fifth grade class, the same boy who gave me my first kiss ever on the side lawn of the church as we were walking back from the library.
After boring Kirk to bed around 10:30, we sat on my couch until 2:30 in the morning, talking about the places life has taken us of late. It was a wonderful conversation, entirely worth the sleepwalking I did yesterday.
Thank you for coming to see me, Googah! Let's not wait another seven years, okay?
In the meantime, I'm off to type about other people's acne--the typing I get paid to do! Happy afternoon, all.
*I should know, I guess, since I was the girl he was kissing on many of those occasions. No professed innocence here!