There.
I did it again.
Now my face is a starry constellation or red blotches and old scars left by my expert fingers.
Pinching the skin tight enough for that satisfying moment.
Ever had this experience where, the closer you bring your face to the mirror (so close you could draw cool things in the mist that your breath leaves on it, rather than torturing your poor ceels), the more black heads you spot? And the more you burst, the more precisely your cruel eyes spot each and every pore of your face that could be pinched ?
Well that’s just what I had been doing for the last 5 minutes of my life when I thought -
Hey I bet I could be doing something better for myself right now.
(just one more, this one right here..ha! oh and this one too! )
Don’t get me wrong, I totally acknowledge the satisfaction of popping black heads. I just realized that the longer I focused on imperfections in my skin, the longer I was in a place of not-enjoying-my-face.
The longer I was away from an activity that could lead to better feelings.
Then you ask
but Sophie,
what is it with you and feeling good?
You would rather have a face full of black heads and feel good than suffer for a moment?
Well, the thing is, they’ll be there no matter what. So you better focus on something else when I talk to you. No, not my mustache nor my unibrow. How about you look me in the eyes and enjoy the beautiful things I tell you?