Today I wore makeup.
A pretty bronze-y pink that I picked up from MAC as a treat for myself on my birthday (while doing the self pity shopping) complimented by various shades of gold and chocolate brown. The colors blended nicely under perfectly sculpted eyebrows and mascara to give me that doe look. Since it’s warming up, I opted for just a little bronzer, neutral colored lips. I looked beautiful, if I do say so myself.
Underneath it though, I was blazing.
I have been for awhile now. Outwardly cool and calm and collected, inwardly seething. Absolutely simmering with fury.
I am angry all the time.
And I have no idea why.
To be fair, there have certainly been valid reasons to be angry; there have been more than a scarce amount of slights and resentments and neglects and arguments to certainly fuel my wrath. But mostly it’s just a lingering boil, simmering right beneath the surface, spilling over, scorching everything when I least expect it to rise over the edge.
The only way I know to deal is to stick to myself for a little while until I can get a lid on it or find the cause of it or at least turn down the temperature on my anger.
But it seems like everyday, every slight, everything that just has to become a full on production just because of the orchestration of my life, turns the temperature up 10 degrees.
Goddammit I am hot.
And not in a cute way.
Just writing this, I feel my body heat inching up. My palms are getting sweaty. My heart is beating faster in my chest. I’m clenching my teeth. I feel short of breath. It’s like even acknowledging it reveals a draft, lets the air in to bolster the flames.
But I am out in the world so I smile, albeit tightly. I try to be polite. I try to stick to myself. I try goddammit.
And it’s not helping.
Underneath the MAC, something is festering, putrid and fluid, splashing over all the contents of my life. On the inside I am seething, hot and humid, barely managing to act like I have any modicum of sense.
Today, I wear makeup.
Tomorrow… who knows?