Dec–2024Self-Study #197
12/02, Monday. It’s been a long, long time since I felt so disheveled within my physical form and maybe the first time I’ve noticed but can’t be bothered to actually care. Gray hair is threading in. Zits on my face. Blood in my thong. Dry skin. Dry lips. Stubble on my legs. Dirt and paint under my nails. My hair entirely misshapen. I’ve let my makeup run empty. I wore heels today for the first time in months and now red spots on my toes. My bikini line unshaven. My breasts seem deflated. My belly and ass and thighs, soft and doughy. I do not care. I mean, of course I care because I am vain and somewhere inside me I’m still young enough and because my physical body has always been my instrument, my subject, my muse. But I do not care for this place, for now. I will replenish and reblossom on my terms and for my audience of choice. Right now I’m just trying to keep my head in some kind of sanity. Part of me dissolved and lost in the past, part of me ready to explode into the future, and in the meantime here, only held-breath here in this strange intermediary tension. Yes, I could have started this notebook in a month. “The beginning“. But I want to remember who I was as I dragged myself across the finish line of this era. Pentax UC-1