Vanity

Yesterday I saw someone whom I had not seen for about three weeks (before I started the latest regime of meds). She was shocked at how I looked. "You don't look well!" She went on to say that I looked thin, pale, and very tired.

Sadly, she's right.

I look like crap. More to the point, I look like I'm sick.

Prior to my illness, I was very active, and yoga was really doing wonders for my body shape. I mean, I lifted weights before, but yoga made the muscles smoother...more like a dancer body, except I remained bootylicious (which was a great asset--get it?--in my burlesque dance class).

I'm not able to be active any longer, and I've lost nearly all my muscle tone. (But much of my yoga flexibility remains, which makes me happy.) My weight has gone all over the place. First I lost about 10 pounds, now it's coming back--and in all the wrong places.

My face is puffy and drawn. I've got "sick eyes," which I can't describe but you can recognize when you see them. Ugh.

However, despite the things I cannot control, I try to keep myself looking as best I can. I learned a few years ago, during an unrelated rough patch in life, that keeping up outward appearances can actually boost inward attitudes. So I'm keeping my Derby Salon appointments. I've got a cute new hair cut, and I get my brows and lashes dyed every five weeks or so. (Otherwise, they're so blond as to be invisible.) Manicures/pedicures have been cut from our stretched budget (insurance won't cover things like supplements, shamanic healing, or massage), but I've got a collection of home-brewed beauty concoctions. Sometimes I even break out the lipstick.

So while I look like I've aged ten years in the last ten months, I'm doing my best given the circumstances. And that is good enough.