What Is Growing Up

I frequently resolve to stop picking at my acne, and just as frequently fail to resist temptation when I'm in front of the bathroom mirror. (My mild case of derma has come up before--see this entry and this one, for example.)



For once I'm annoyed at the camera for being overly flattering, because this picture doesn't accurately illustrate my wrecked skin. It's probably for the best anyway--no one wants to see that. Besides, I'm sure I look less raw than I feel. Humans tend to dramatize their experiences, especially teenage humans. Eventually I'll look back on young adulthood the same way I recollect middle school, with rueful embarrassment and condescending empathy for the petty agonies of a former self.

Right now my worries don't seem minor. (Pun intended, although technically I'm "legal".) Currently I'm falling in love with X again and trying to find a professional path that I can tread on daily. The inching progress in both respects is very potent; the muscles in my heart and limbs tear as they stretch. Still my surface preoccupies me as much as ever...