Genevieve

Waking Sleeping Sign Repose Wish
The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam...

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what is beautiful?
2002-03-08 - 3:21 p.m.

Did I mention I hate these afternoon fevers? yeah, well I do, perhaps I should see a doc, but what is he going to tell me other than to take some fever reducer which I am... sigh. I also wish the pain in the neck would go away. No, I'm not talking about a who, I'm talking about the actual pain in my neck. Had a pinched nerve when I woke up yesterday, finally saw chiropractor around 2pm after I couldn't talk on the phone and type at the same time, an integral part of my job. Muscles still stiff this morning despite the judicious application of ibuprofen, heating pad, alcohol (cider) and a neck squeeze by Bob. Oh well, at lease I can turn my neck without the shooting pain down my left shoulder, it's just stiff and sore now.

So, thanks to BdeB's stupid assessment, I'm all introspective about appearances as well. Despite my obvious vanity, I have never found myself attractive. At all. Maybe it's from looking at the same face for 26 years, I'm tired of it. All I notice now is the flaws. Nose is too big, with that stupid spot on the end of it, eyebrows are not symmetrical, too fat, calcium deposit here, skin blotch there, boring eye color, weird hairline, odd face structure... list goes on and on and on. I can't look at myself in pictures, all I see are flaws. Occasionally, when I don't look in the mirror, I feel pretty, sexy, wonderful, what have you, but that delusion is easily put to rest with any reflective surface.

And my friends and sweetie are so sweet and wonderful, they don't see the flaws, they just see me, which is sometimes easier for them since they haven't had to look at me day in and day out. It's not that I don't believe them, I know when folks compliment me it is with the best of intentions, I know this. I wasn't a beautiful child growing up, I'm sure my parents thought otherwise, but I cringe when I see old picutres of me, and it's not just the homemade courderoy pants and weird shirts my mom dressed me in. I've always thought I was too fat, even when I was swimming six days a week. I don't think being called a "buck toothed bitch" in high school helped any at all.

well, this is all boring, pity me, pity me... Maybe it's stress. maybe I've always had this bipolar vain self-loathing, maybe I'm just crazy and prozac will help me, maybe I just need an old fashioned killing spree of super models to make me feel better, because they may be beautiful, but at least I'm alive. break them like twigs... must have completely lost my audience by now...

So, Sunday, we head off to New Orleans, and then onto the war, reluctantly. It should be fun. I'll miss my Alan since he is staying home to work on getting the house closer to ready to sell. I am looking forward to beignets for breakfast at Cafe DuMonde, and pralines at the candy stores, and some of the best seafood in the world, and some drinks in Jean Lafitte's, and listening to Beth Patterson on the bouzuki in O'Flaherty's Pub, and good friends and fun times... A little renewal of the spirit in the city that never sleeps can go a long way.

And so, I leave you with some more quiz results, I know, crack pipe, hey, I get to go a week without test, imagine that:


Which Angelina Are You?


Which Evil Criminal are You?
Hailing from sunny Transylvania, your first blood-related incident was when you stabbed a servant girl in the face with a pair of scissors for underperforming. Some of the red spray landed on your hands, and as you washed it off, you noticed that it left your skin fresh and young looking. From then on you were convinced that the blood of young girls was the secret to eternal youth.

Rather than killing girls outright by stabbing them or slitting their throats, you enjoy torturing them for weeks on end by pricking them with needles or prodding with sharp spikes - all to bathe in their blood. You've killed over six hundred women, all without raising a peep from the authorities.

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