Gravity is not my friend
It's clearly the planet's fault. Has nothing to do with me and my sedentary life style where I go - in a car - from my writer's desk at home to a desk at work, and from the desk at work to a desk at school, back to the writer's desk at home and to bed. Do loop.
Any exercise I get comes in the form of walking the dogs. Not too shabby, but deeming from the shape of my body, it definitely wants more. Not having time to cook and drinking gallons of coffee to stay awake every day doesn't exactly help give the body and skin the luster they once held.
Seeing things from the bright side, I will be done with school in just over a month. Done, done, done! Well, I say that now. I've sworn never to return before, and still enrolled in a four year program to get a degree I'll probably never use. As soon as I walk out the doors for the last time, I know a little part of me will insist, "You know, you could go back and take just a class or so each semester, and work on that English degree you want..."
That will be a problem for the future, though. I hope I won't be stupid enough to enroll in school full time while having a daytime job and working as a writer. Then again, one never knows. Common sense clearly isn't my strong side.
I don't think my face sags all that much when I see it in a mirror, but on photos, oh my goodness. The fiendish invention that is a camera screams my skin is mercilessly pulled towards the center of the Earth. To remedy the saggy bulldog look, I have now invested in a barrage of little bottles with skin creams and eye tightening products. Will it help? Probably not, but making a half-hearted attempt makes me feel better.
Do I care? Some days. Most days I shrug and accept reality. I am, after all, the eccentric who has been known to shuffle to work in sandals and soft shorts, telling colleagues, "So? I'm a writer, you can't expect me to be normal." =)