Needless to say, it's been a mild winter pretty much everywhere. It was like, 65 degrees here today. In January. That's just unnatural.
Nevertheless, my skin is rebelling, making it very clear that the current temperatures are still unacceptable, causing a torturous discomfort as yet unrivaled in my short 25 years on this earth. (I'm pretty sure that time I had chicken pox in 3rd grade wasn't as bad as this.) My skin is so dry and itchy all the time, that I want to rip it all off and grow new skin. At this point I'm thinking that might be less uncomfortable than my current situation.
Okay, so maybe I exaggerated a little. Or maybe not. You'll never know.
If you're asking yourself right about now, "Is this one of those posts where she can't think of anything to write about so she's writing about how her skin is dry?" you'd be right. Oh wait, is it bad blogging etiquette to admit that? Whoops.
My point is, I have no point. That's not true. My point is, I want it to be spring again. I want work to not be boring anymore. I want the trees to be green. I want my skin to stop hating me. I want my emotions to stop being this spiraling black hole of unpredictable doom inside my chest.
But that seems to be prevailing struggle. I want to do away with something which is hard-wired into me.
What this has to do with my dry skin, I don't know.
The moral of the story is,