Them Blemishes...

Growing old doesn’t plague me as much as growing up (not happening!) does. However, one must respect the law of gravity and what it does to one’s bodies.

I try not to look in the mirror often but when I do, the blemishes I’m developing on my face bother me.

Decided to check with my gynecologist who I was visiting for my hot flushes/ flashes and let me explain, not of the amorous kind, although these want me to tear off my clothes too!

Web MD: “Hot flashes are one of the most common signs of perimenopause, the years leading up to menopause. Intense heat starts in your chest and rises to your neck and head. Beads of sweat grow until perspiration run down your face. It’s a hot flash due to menopause, and it’s a loooong five minutes until it passes. Multiply that by 20 or 30 and you can call it a day.”

So my doctor grimly announces that it’s my genetics and perimenopause that affects the unbecoming blotches on the face and prescribes an anti-blemish cream. Hey Ho!

While I was applying it on my face after a shower a few minutes ago, the question popped, you’re working on eliminating the blots on the façade, what about those on your soul? 

Heaven knows there’s enough there to qualify for a many splendored speckled mosaic. Pun intended.

No seriously, why is the assiduity to the exterior exigent, while to the interior inconsequential. How am I working on refurbishing the innate quirks that desperately need redress. 

One of my multiple personalities is giggling like a meth addict while another has merely raised a lazy eyebrow languorously supine on a hammock, the other pushes the faith of my parents for answers and then there’s one who gently counsels.

The sully doesn’t define me, there’s room for improvement for sure and it may not be via enslavement, apathy or religion but needs to stem from the soul.

How I'm going to action the thought may well be the strength of my character (not from the theater of the absurd I hope) and the verisimilitude of my mettle. 

Blame-ish on me!