The Waiting Game

Let's be real though, I started getting these bad boys at age 11.  I fondly remember a moment in the 5th grade when a boy so kindly informed me in front of a bunch of my classmates that I had a bunch of dots on me.  Yeah it's called having pimples, dummy, also commonly known as "being a pizza face," "playing the devil's laser-tag," "asexual reproduction by budding," "drafting constellations for NASA," "topping the cake with sprinkles," "changing the wallpaper," "cultivating mass," "losing a game of minesweeper," "atoning for your skin," "lighting the beacons of Gondor," "putting the ornaments on the tree," "experimenting with pointillism," and/or "downloading the braille Bible."

So, what is more fun than being a child with something on your face, you ask?

Well duh, it's obviously: bringing that nostalgic childhood baggage with you all the way into adulthood and beyond!  And to all my brothers and sisters out there suffering with me, as you can see from my scientific illustration here, even the sweet release of death itself will not allow us to escape this oily, polka-dotted existence. 

In the words of a certain dead-and-back-again elf, "what are we but slaves to this torment?"

~

Truthfully, you deserve to have love for yourself no matter kind of hell-glitter or other fun anomalies decorate your face or body.  To accomplish this is easier said than done, I know, I know, I know.. This is certainly NOT one of those empty attempts to cure complicated emotions with a single sentence.  Just know that I think so.  And I just.. also.. will be providing comic relief in the meantime.