Saturday, May 26, 2007

My face hurts.

When it comes to my face, for the most part I'm thankful for what I have. My eyes could be a little larger, my nose slightly less bulbous (have always found that word amusing); but overall, I think all the elements arrange themselves quite well. That said, I'm on a constant quest for self-improvement, and my face is certainly not spared in this mission.

As the name of this blog implies, in many ways I'm a dichotomy of two ideologies that are continually at odds. There's the part of me that actually gives a damn, and the part of me that doesn't. And of late, the biggest casualty of this battle seems to be my face. I'm staunchly against any sort of alteration to my physical appearance that comes by way of metal instruments - needles included. However, that's not to say I'm not vain. And like all people, time is bringing lines and discolorations along with great wisdom.

So naturally, I made a visit to the dermatologist. (Though it should be noted this trip was a marked improvement over the trip I submitted as my entry for The Big Blush.) I asked him if there was anything topical that could get rid of my sunspots as well my fine lines. "Tazorac," he said bluntly. And I was off...

It turns out however, that Tazorac basically eats off your face. And now I'm faced (ha) with the following quandary: the benefits of reduced sun spots and lines versus the fact my skin is coming off in SHEETS and my lips are four times their normal size. Can responsible vanity not come without a major sacrifice? I'm beginning to worry my attempts to turn back the clock will soon have me looking like an installation from the Body Worlds exhibit. And if that's the case, what's a little botulism between your eyes when the alternative is looking like skeleton.

I'm pretty sure that's the creepiest thing I've ever said.

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