So yeah, I come across a couple of enemies which I think look somewhat freaky, and I'm prepared to be afraid. They're tall, with extremely elongated torsos and arms, all over a pale gray-toned white, and their heads can rotate a full 360. It comes in three types - Mournful, Rage, and Vengeance. I was very prepared to be freaked out, but I certainly wasn't prepared for ...
... the waving, large, prominent ... um ... well ... if that isn't a phallic protrusion, I don't know what is. I tried to give the designers a bit of the benefit of doubt and hope that these "appendages" were umbilical cords or part of some mythology, or something ... I could envision these being the souls of dead babies coming back to kick tush. But checking up the enemy info, it turns out these are all the results of grown men. So the baby theory is dead, and the wavingness ... they SMACK your characters with them ... it goes totally limp when they die ... it's really shocking, actually. LOL
The designers made a comeback with the "Mailman" enemy, which looks like an arm wearing a dog for a hat (or did the dog eat all of the mailman but the arm? The arm is fused to the dog's nose), which dances in time to the battle music. The "Police Dog" enemy looks the same, but the dog is brown. LOL
"Ghost of a mailman who ate all the dogs in town." o.O;;
Waitjustasec. Those who decided on the camera angles just gave us more shots of a dog's underside than we will ever, ever need.
Generally speaking, I have never felt comfortable in group discussions. I tend to wind up not participating, or getting annoyed at the world for no good reason ... thus I avoid events where speakers are pontificating on even the slightest inflammatory subject, and intensely dislike "enforced class participation."
But nyxdae, jealdi, hypertechie, and livinghole are all presenting tomorrow, so I'll have to change my ways temporarily. But they're all presenting at the same time in different rooms, so who knows where I'll eventually show up. XP
It's no secret ...
... because the proof is right there on my face.
I suppose this "confession" will make me sound vaguely obsessive-compulsive, but I think it's more that I am still insecure (have I always been this way?), and feel as though control has been lost (and if you know me, you know that I am all about controlling myself and my actions). No matter what I do, I can't make my skin better. It hovers around "substandard" and "worse," and when I think it's going to heal, that time of the month comes around and lo and behold - nope! Back to square one.
I have long been concerned with the condition of my face (as most people become/remain). Where once I prided myself on having decent skin ( ... back in sixth grade ...?), puberty finally took its true toll and I have had acne as a constant companion since. Certainly, there are many people out there who have had far worse cases than I. And there are people who haven't. It's just that way (and often a major envy of mine ... my former best friend had such clear, clear skin!).
I know many people "pick" at their pimples. To some extent, I do too. But it isn't just a simple poke and its over with ... I can spend hours before a mirror, gouging, prodding, scratching, and afterwards gently dabbing at the open spots with tissue. Speaking of, I am currently nursing along two such victims who are crying fluid, trying to get them to stop weeping ... I hate large scabs.
It often goes to a point where it passes beyond a "good decision" and becomes an action of frustration, of tension; action which is well aware of its pointlessness. I know I'm not going to get what I want, but I do it anyway. Some of these sites become very bloody. Sometimes I keep on going, feeling that there must still be something in there - pimples never stop after just one eruption, they all come back - somewhere within that well of blood is a contaminant that I must get out.
It's not just on my face. It's on my chest, my shoulders, my back ... scabs and dark remnants, stark against my pale skin. These marks linger for ages after their source has vanished, and I possess subtle scars left behind by multi-pore inflammation. Oh, I hate the contrast, yet I keep on creating it - because I cannot stand the disgusting appearance of these pimples either. They hurt sometimes, so often they're as large as my iris (I currently have at least a three or four-pore pimple going on, and this isn't the first) ... sometimes they burst on their own when I sleep, and the evidence of such miniature natural disasters nauseates me. When I run my fingertips over my skin, I can feel the disturbances building underneath what I know should be a smooth surface. And I continually feel the crusty landmarks above, for I am forever creating them.
I think at one point during high school I tried to stop, but it is like my father and his tobacco - he just can't, he just won't. Like him, I hide problems. The Post-it note on the mirror eventually fell down and my resolutions passed into faint memory.
This is probably one reason why I retain a high level of skepticism whenever people tell me that I'm beautiful, or that I'm cute ... because I look in the mirror that very evening, look close, and see my handiwork. And then I start it again.
People tell me not to worry about it - but how is that possible when you feel disgusting, oily, full of lumps and pus?