I’m falling apart, America. The eyes are going fast, the hair is on its way out, the fat is stacking up…It’s a sad sight.
I can’t help but think that it has a lot to do with the 50-60 hour work weeks and the stress that comes with that; and I’m starting to think that it has even more to do with internalizing the trauma of my own little personal tragedies. If I might self-aggrandize a bit, I dealt with my fire, the repeated car accidents, and now the loss of 10 years worth of pictures with an uncharacteristic calm. I’ve gotten compliments on that calm and told that I’m great under pressure, results-driven, blah, blah, blah.
But lately, as I fall to pieces in the mirror, I wonder if that’s really all that good of a thing. Maybe I’m not so much dealing with these situations as burying them, and it’s manifesting itself in my faltering body.
Or maybe I’m just getting older.
Also, I’ve just been watching “I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here!” on Hulu, so clearly my mind is also going.