2:07 p.m. Upkeep

After a bout of depression and mania, I think--understandably--that when a person starts feeling better, they become leery of certain things (i.e. communing with Sharp Items of Peril (TM)). My hygiene is the first thing to suffer when I hit a depressive episode, and I'm still having trouble with physical upkeep, even as I'm straining to continue with my mental upkeep. That often overwhelms the more earthly need to keep up appearances. But when your boyfriend looks at your legs and deems them "furry," that's a hint--perhaps--that some things have gone on too long. Especially when you, yourself, look down and wonder how on earth things got so out of hand.

I knew today I was going to make myself take a shower, shave, shampoo. This doesn't sound like a monumental task by any means, I know, but it's something I've had to work myself up to. Not the shower or shampoo (well, possibly a little), but certainly the shave. There was a point, not overly long ago, when I stood looking in the mirror, trying to keep the pressure in my head in, and wondering how everyone couldn't see it throbbing to get out when they looked at me. It was one of those times when I understood implicitly why cutters cut. And Jb's razor was on the sink. And I picked it up. And I looked at myself in the mirror. And I wanted to cry so hard and shout out anything to alleviate the pressure in my head that I took the razor, and rather than cut myself, cut through a few fingers worth of hair, chopping it off without any regard for how it'd look. Now, on muggy, humid days, I have this little curl in the middle of my forehead that makes me feel like a Parkerism:

There was a little girl
Who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead
And when she was good
She was very, very good
And when she was bad,
She played with Sharp Instruments of Peril (TM).

Needless to say, there was no temptation today. Possibly because I was too busy trying to keep the new bathtub from overflowing long enough to shower, shampoo, and shave. (Apparently, it has problems that require Drain-o-like finesse. Yet another perk of living in a house from the 40's.) There was some wary speculation of each other between the razor and myself. But we came to some sort of truce that seemed, blessedly, normal. I didn't press my luck, though, and was very quick about everything, which was just as well when the tub began backing up on me.