I know Iíve been updating like a maniac lately, but thereís that previously mentioned loneliness thatís getting the best of me, plus, Iíve been listening to the audiobook version Jane Austenís Emma. Jane Austen always makes me nervously chatty.

Iíve also been spending way too much time in front of the mirror, lately. This is how I cope with anxiety. I groom mercilessly. Iím still stuck in some bizarre mindset that beauty is going to solve all of my problems.

I was an ugly duckling. I know Iíve mentioned this a million times before, but hey, Iíve deleted all of my entries more than once and changed diaries more often than most people changeÖ well, I donít know, something frequent, but not like, every day frequent, so here it is again.

In Junior high, I was teased mercilessly. Not just for being fat but for being fat and ugly. Somehow, it got stuck in my mind that beauty is the only thing that stands between a person and happiness. Beauty would afford me the power to take control of my life. If only I had that, everything would fall into place.

Iíd always believed it was a luxury Iíd never have, especially in Wisconsin, where the general population is tall and blond, which is pretty much the exact opposite of what I am.

Because of this fact, Iíd also developed an extremely unhealthy fear of attractive people, especially attractive girls, and most especially tall, blonds. The first time I was ever aware of being treated as though I were pretty was early in college, maybe freshman year, in an aerobic dance class.

I took the class because I disliked physical education and it seemed like the place where I was least likely to be injured by a flying object (I absolutely hate having things thrown at to me). There were all these tall, waif-like dancer girls who were taking the class because their favorite dance instructor was teaching.

If you were the 18 year old me, this was a complete nightmare to walk into. Except, it didnít become the nightmare I expected. I have a lot of natural coordination and the dance instructor took a liking to me. The dancer girls accepted me as if I was one of them.

I was confused and in total awe. I thought it had to be some kind of mistake, of course. I simultaneously felt like a total fraud and the luckiest S.O.B. to walk into a dance class, ever.

Maybe itís something like how a pale, freed slave must have felt, the first time she passed for white, in the south.

That feeling went on for years, anytime a pretty girl would accept me as one of her own. I went through a phase where I mostly scoffed at them for their superficiality and felt superior for not really being like them.

Over time, that feeling faded and I got old enough to realize that judging someone else by his/her appearance is the worst service you could do for yourself.

I do feel a very faint, ancient and historic stab of some kind of fear or repulsion around tall blonds.

So, anyway, thereís this tall, blond girl at work. Sheís about my age. Of course, my ancient defenses were still working and there are plenty of other people to talk to at work, so why bother with the scary people?

One day, we ran into each other in the bathroom, and we had on the exact same sweater vest. That was cute. We laughed about it and parted ways.

Other times, we ran into each other, weíd nod and smile, but thatís about it. I still wasnít about to stick my neck out for tall, blond girl.

Another day came along and we met in the bathroom again, and just because itís a reaction when I see familiar people, I said hello and asked her how she was. She acknowledged me and then told me how much she liked my outfit and how cute I looked.

Totally shocked and surprised (mostly because I was half asleep that morning and had thrown on whatever was handy and didnít even bother doing my hair). I told her that I was too tired this morning to really think about it, but I knew I wanted to be comfortable and I didnít even bother doing my hair.

She shook her head at me and said, ďI wish I could roll out of bed and look that good. I canít do that. It takes work.Ē

I donít know why she was complimenting me to that extent, but Iím guessing for whatever reason, tall, blond girl wants to be friends. So, of course, itís on me to get over my petty fears and be friendly.

This is something that I most definitely need. Thereís no reason to dislike anyone on sight. Itís discrimination.

Of course, Iím making a bigger issue out of it than it is. But, what else am I going to do at 1AM?

As for me, and my looksÖ well, right now, I have a tiny little pimple on the side of my nose thatís underneath a freckle, so itís not even visible unless Iím about two inches from the mirror.

Why do I look at myself from two inches away? I like to examine my pores.

Well, no one is going to do it for me!

(Unless a hire a dermatologist, of course.)

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Friday, Jun. 15, 2007 at 1:07 AM