Fuck Me

I woke up last week (Wednesday, to be specific), and I had aged 10 years overnight. 

I wish I was kidding.  I wish I was being overly melodramatic.  But I swear to god, allah, and the easter bunny  that I looked at myself in the mirror, and some shit went down while I was sleeping.

Medical Emergency #1 was my hands.  They were swollen so badly that when I made a fist, I couldn’t see my knuckles.  What the fuck?!  My hands looked all arthritic and fat and fucked up.  Immediately, I started thinking, “what did I do?!”  The day before, I replaced some bathtub sealant, so I thought maybe that was it.  Allergic reaction.  Or maybe a reaction to black mold (bathroom … who knows).  But every day since then, my hands have been fucked up.  So (of course) I web-diagnosed myself.  Rheumatoid Arthritis.  Just wait.  I know that I tend to be a little hypochondriac  (for good reason), but this shit is real.  I’ll get back online and tell you when I have an official diagnosis.  My hands are fucked up.  I haven’t been able to put a ring on my fingers once since that day. 

And my face.  Holy shit, man.  I look 100-years-old.  All these fucking wrinkles – deep motherfuckers – have sprung up in the most disadvantageous places.  All you have to do is look at my eyes, the window of the soul, to see how fucked up I am.  They are bright red, puffy, and black.  I look like I’ve been on a three-day bender which culminated in a fist fight.  Pale, fleshy, and confused.  That’s how I look. 

I should probably just put myself out of my misery.  Age spots, fat, memory loss, angst … can a girl get a break?!  This is some bullshit.  I want a refund or a reset or something.  No amount of concealer can hide this bitch which is old age.