On such days, a pimple that might normally be the size of only 1/1000 of my face seems almost as if it's 1/12 the size of my face. I mourn over the presence of it and wonder what I've ever done to deserve such a volcano on my face. I ponder over the number of dirt and germs that made their way into that huge volcano and wonder how that might have happened.
I wonder why they would want to invade my face and form that volcano 'cause the volcano will eventually erupt and then they would die... And that makes no sense to me. So I mourn over their imminent death and over the fact that my face is now invaded by a huge volcano.
On such days, I look at my tummy and wonder what I've ever eaten to deserve such a chubby tummy. What normally might look a bit cute actually looks disgusting and pregnant to me on such a day. I sit down... I think of what I've eaten. I mourn over that piece of salmon I've eaten, wondering what it might have been doing right before it was sliced into pieces and made into sashimi for me to consume. Could it have been eating another micro-organism before it was being killed?
Could it have been having sex right before it was being killed? Did the salmon think that it was going to be eaten right before it was being killed? Did it know that it was going to be killed? Did the fish know that it was going to die in the next second? Was it in its instincts to be killed? Did it know that it was going to be killed just to make me fat and give me a tummy? On such days, I mourn over the untimely death of the salmon and I mourn over my disgustingly pregnant-looking tummy.
On such days, I look at my pathetic looking wallet. It looks less than perfect and it seems like it's always hungry and void of cash. I also always seem to be digging its throat to fish out its food also otherwise known as money. I mourn over the forced bulimia of my wallet and my own lack of money.
On such days, I look at my chinese looking features and think about how it would be nice if my nose could be sharper, my chin could be sharper and how my eyes could be bigger. I think about how nice it would be if my face could actually be pretty without makeup. On such days, I plaster my face with a thick layer of powder - also known as foundation... I crayon the edges of my eyes - also known as eyeliner. And generally, just mistreat my face by disallowing it to breathe. I suffocate my face. On such days, I mourn over the suffocation of my face and just how my flat my facial features seem to be.
On such days, my insecurities get the better of me and I mourn... I keep mourning. I mourn over my imperfections. I mourn, and I mourn and I mourn.
Toodles.
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