Beauty From Pain

I'm kind of out of luck insofar as my health, goes.

Possibly an understatement, but we'll leave it at that.

When I had cancer as a teenager, I focused on my appearance - or the parts of it I could control - and worked on improving it, mainly through obsessive skincare regimens to prevent my fast-shedding skin cells from clogging my pores.

That and powdering my bald head to keep it from being shiny.

Yes, I'm serious. Looking like the cueball isn't much fun.

I recently realized I've fallen into the same pattern as before, but fortunately without losing my hair.

My sanity, however, is a whole other ballgame.

As a consequence, I've amassed an impressive collection of various dermatological lotions and potions and serums and (something that rhymes with serums. Rhymezone recommends theorems, but I can't figure out a way to work that in).

Also, I'm now best friends with "my" cosmetics lady at Neiman Marcus. I've decided that, from now on, if I feel bad, I just need to go see her, because she always makes me feel better by gushing about how wonderful my [hair, skin, eyelashes] is/are. I don't know her name, but I fully intend to find out, next time I go in. She can't become my new best friend if I don't know her name, right?

So far, I haven't had to spend much money on the lotions and potions, but those free samples - courtesy of the NM Cosmetics Lady - won't last forever, and then...

I've always enjoyed applying creams and lotions to my face. There's something so grown up and ladylike about it. I was always fascinated growing up by watching my mom put on her make-up, and that might be part of it. But there's also, I know, an element of advertising involved. All those commercials (back when I used to watch TV) that depicted beautifully complexioned models gently massaging strangely invisible age-defying creams into their skin got under mine, somehow.

So now, in addition to the doctor-ordered soak in warm water with epsom salts (for the good old piriformis and lower back), I spend about 15 minutes carefully inspecting my pores - which I think are atrocious, but no one else has mentioned them yet, so hey - and refining my eyebrows (which I will do again in the morning, because where did that hair come from???), and buffing my face and throat with a power-tool for my face, and then carefully massaging in 1) the black tea age-defying serum and 2) the black tea age-defying cream OR 1) the face cream hand-mixed by monks in Umbria. I jokingly refer to the last product as "holy s**t face cream", and I will never buy it because it costs $140 for 40G, aka 1 oz.

Hopefully, my obsessiveness will pay off, in the end, and I won't end up looking like - well - this guy:

("This Guy" is, inexplicably, the first image to appear in Google images when you search "complexion")