At my old apartment I had this huge, fabulous mirror. On the day we moved out I split it down the center. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, as I have quite the penchant for breaking glass and adding bad luck onto my life.
This teeny mirror makes taking photos of myself hard. And not having a girly roommate or an understanding boyfriend who gets the concept of “make sure you include the shoes in the photo” is a huge reason why I haven’t fully dove into the pool of daily fashion updates, because, yes, I do have a pretty fun closet and how I present myself to the world does matter.
I mean, this is what happens when you become a slave to the self-timer. Artsy? Perhaps (if it was intentional!) but not useful to you as a reader. Alas.
Anyway, these past few days have been absolutely miserable. There were so many social issues going on in my life, I was having stress migraines, and I spent day after day on the phone with my mom where each conversation got more desperate and depressing. Honestly, how do any of us survive high school? And then the quickie relationship I was in ended, which was probably the best thing ever. Allow me to be the writing major I am and say it felt like I was in a car that was quickly sinking, and the pressure finally equalized, and I was able to open the door. And swim to shore…and yada yada. I cried for a hot second and then finished a bottle of wine and had a dance party by myself to Latin “summer music” and Taylor Swift and made White Russians with my upstairs neighbor. All was good, albeit a bit hung-over.
Yesterday I felt great. I looked great (cockiness intended) and I’m taking it all in stride.