Sometimes I wonder if I love fall so much because it’s the visual embodiment of all the things that, psychologically, I should be doing a better job of maintaining. Every year, nature takes stock and detoxes, shedding its skin in the loveliest, most wondrous of ways. It’s a lesson to be learned, and certainly one to echo.
Because, dear reader, I know how to do the following things:
drive long distances
remember every vestige of wrongs done to me
Let’s discuss that last one. Is it really letting go and shedding if I hold on to the memory, almost lovingly, to my chest? Is my intent to remember not to be hurt again really a thinly veiled attempt to just remember the hurt(s)?
And yet, one thing I actively try to do is be a good forgiver. In the past, I held grudges like a boss. As I grew up and looked inward, it was important that growth and maturing involved a decided effort to strip away some of the vendettas grudges I was holding on to. I’ve come a long way. But there’s still road to traverse.
Sometimes I think wanting to protect our hearts, as women, involves a large dose of remembering. The heart needs protection. It needs a shield. We have to remember the past so we don’t repeat letting people inside who shouldn’t be there. But balance. So much balance is necessary. To wrap the heart in a shield doesn’t also mean to let it grow cold with memory.
Look at all the trees around you, just stripping things away and readying themselves for the cyclical new beginning.
That lovely, crisp, autumnal breeze in the atmosphere? It’s wonderful. And also very, very dangerous.
This morning, as I trudged into work and settled myself at my desk, I noticed something as I was typing away on my keyboard. Something that took my breath away.
My knuckles were ashy. Like gray. The abject horror of it all.
Here’s the thing: I don’t play when it comes to lotion. Your Square Peg is a connoisseur of moisturized skin. I don’t leave my house without the epidermis gleaming from whatever silky lotion or oil I’ve decided to apply. Especially when it comes to these hands, which is the first thing folks see, other than the face. So the discovery of these ashy knuckles–and the skin between my fingers, my goodness–was like, whaaaaattttttttt?
And that’s the thing: the cool breeze comes bearing dubious gifts. Dry skin, dry limbs, the whole ashy shebang. whenever we’re outside and subject to the elements. (Even that beautiful, heated atmosphere in the home can be a little intense for the skin.) How can we counter it? A few things I plan on doing more of, although apparently at least one of them didn’t work this morning:
Lotion it up. I have lotion on my desk at work, in my handbag, wherever I go. Take the time to apply some on your hands, face, wherever you’re susceptible to starting a brush fire with your skin. Yikes.
Extra facial moisture. So this morning was a struggle, which may explain why some things fell by the wayside. But as I was driving in and applying makeup on my face (be ye not judgmental; I’ve actually gotten better at not doing this, dear reader), I noticed some dry spots on my face. So yeah, I plan on upping my skin care game for real during this time of year.
Brush your lips. I don’t know where I read this, but one way to counter the peeling of skin on the lips (something that happens to me a lot), is to gently brush them with a toothbrush. Exfoliating for the win. I also just read that a bit of Vaseline or lip balm on the lips first and then brushing is even better. Don’t brush hard, y’all. Do this one at your own risk. I’m not a doctor or an esthetician, but I play one on TV. (I just googled and there are plenty of lip scrubs out there. Research!)
And remember: all skin is capable of ashiness. All.Skin. Just a friendly reminder.
Happy Monday, y’all. Upwards and onwards and skinwards.
Even with endless rainy days (it’s been raining here for a full two weeks, reader) and minor disappointments in life (I’ll spare the details and provide them for another post, but let’s give you one clue: men), you’ll find This Square Peg moving in some fashion during the day. Even if it’s chair dancing at the office, a little jig in the ladies’ loo, full out imitations of Janet Jackson’s Pleasure Principle video in the gym–I’m always moving.
Little joys that come from responding to the songs in my ear and/or the songs in my head. Can’t beat that. At some point today, dance if you can.
Happy Fall Friday, just keep swimming (which we’re doing here in Texas), and bon weekend.
I’ve said it a million times over: when it comes to writing and creating, I seem to burst with ideas and projects in the fall. It’s the electricity in the air. It’s the leaves. It’s the absence of mosquitoes. Ideas have been coming at me nonstop (like legit novels, dear reader; me, who looks at the commitment of a novel with the side-est of eye), and I’ve actually not allowed them to languish in the cushiest, warmest corners of my mind, never to see the light of day. I’ve actually been working on them. It’s kind of amazing.
But it’s short-lived, y’all. This creating high will last as long as autumn lasts, which doesn’t last long at all.
Here’s the thing: I get writers laziness and/or block every month of the year. These have been pervasive problems since this writing thing took chose me all those years ago. Which also meant that the most isolating of passions chose me and brought with it, on the downside, inaction, inertia, and times when my particular muse just doesn’t want to deal with me. It’s a writerly thing. (Writing is like, that’s all you, sweetheart. Don’t be blaming me for everything.) Anyway, that’s OK. No passion is 100 percent perfect. It’s the conflicting, fluctuating nature of it all. I get it. It’s just that I want that electric, thrilling, creative push for more than a month or so.
A random voice in my head: yeah, so what are you going to do about that?
I don’t know. Just keep writing, I suppose, regardless of the season. Oh, were you expecting a grand denouement to all of this blog chatter, a remedy for this constant struggle? See below.
Hey y’all. As you can imagine, with temps in the 40s and 50s around here in Somewheres, Texas (which is hardly seasonal; we should be around the 60s and bit of 70s, for the most part, but I certainly am not complaining), the pulling out of coats and sweaters and boots and scarves is in full swing. In that vein, here’s what I wore to the office today:
Sweater, Burlington Coat Factory: Lovely, no? Especially with the detail on the back with all the bows, which is essentially why I purchased it. Plus the color yellow makes me happy and allows the red hair to pop more than usual. Win win. And can I say that BCF has really stepped up its game? I saw some other really chic pieces that I happily bought and will be sharing on here, as well.
Slacks that Fit Me Really Well, A Store I Can’t Remember: I wish the photo showed you just how awesome the fit is on these pants. Being a consumer of ill-fitting pants (I feel like they subconsciously call out to my soul in the store), this was a great purchase. Nice fit, great price, shows off the gams, yay.
Booties, DSW/JC Penney/Ross?: I’ll do a better job of noting where some of these things have been purchased. Of course, I’ve had some pieces for years and years, so…yeah. These booties came to me last year, though, and they’re super comfortable. The chunky heel makes it easier to walk around the office, too. Because we all know that some shoes are wonderful until you bring them to the office and the ground suddenly feels like hard, unforgiving cement that is determined to ruin your feet for the rest of all time. Do they look cowboy-y? Have I assimilated?
Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory is on the telly. One of my absolute favorites of all time. And you know what? Charlie was great and good and all that, but there’s only one person I identify with. When I was younger, it was definitely a secret admiration. But now? We’re soul sisters.
Miss Veruca Salt. Selfish. Demanding. Bratty.
But she knew what she wanted, didn’t she?
Brattiness aside, I’m learning to just claim what I want in life and what I deserve, Veruca style. Even if it seems completely unfathomable or unlikely to happen. Being a general pessimist/cynic/skeptic/side eyer of all of life, as I’m wont to be, sometimes I turn that side eye toward myself. Which keeps me largely realistic, yes, but also occasionally limits me. Because sometimes keeping things real strips away that other thing I truly value: pure imagination. So I’m learning balance. Feet on the ground, yes, but not diminishing my possibilities, either.
So, yeah, I want *it* now. Whatever I want it to be.
Fun fact: your resident fan of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex had guessed a month ago, while admiring Meghan’s lovely pleated skirts and intriguing style choices of coats and ruffles, that perhaps there was a little royal on the way. And, yes, plenty of folks called/texted me about the exciting news this morning and to also confirm that your Square Peg called it. *modestly inclines her head while she accepts congratulations about being a good guesser*
Happy Monday, y’all.
p.s.: The coldest of rain currently falls on the ground here in Somewheres, Texas. At present, I’m wearing a scarf around my neck and another around my shoulders. Welcome to Fall, indeed.