// goals for 2006.clear_face

o This is ridiculous. I’m twenty-two and I still have decently horrible acne. I’m incredibly pale—I generally despise the sun, and tanning is as retarded as regular smoking (I have recently learned that I enjoy the occasional cigar, so I can't trash smoking entirely)—so my oft-deeply-rosy cheeks (I get embarrassed easily) are bad enough. But I persist in having, at any given time, at least two-to-three large red spots, usually on my chin or forehead.

o So actually, it's not so much that it's bad and more that it's entirely unnecessary. When I get nervous or bored I don't bite my nails or pick at my eyelashes (my mom) or tap a pen; instead I pick at scabs [yeah, I'm gross]. This used to be all well and good when I went through the severe self-mutilation part of my life--people don't usually see my left arm for any particular reason, so the constant scabbing and irritation and giant red marks didn't really matter. But, since I quit that, what I pick at are the tiny bumps on my face. So what would ordinarily be an unnoticeable clogged pore for one or two days becomes a giant red inflammation, then a bloody mess, then a likewise giant red scab for one-to-two weeks. Disgusting, huh.

o But, now that I'm out of school and secure in a freaking awesome full-time job and with a not-too-infuriating boyfriend (he's well-grounded in reality and he hasn't cheated on me, so I'm getting there), there's no reason for me to be continuing with this nervous habit, especially at the detriment of my otherwise stunning beauty (that last bit's sarcasm, by the way).

o So, by December 31, 2006, I will be acne free and well on my way to picking up another self-afflicting nervous habit.

04.02.06
Update: I can't say the issues behind the waysidign of this goal have resolved themselves, but apparently I've let up a bit, because I must admit my face looks much better this time around--there are now only eight mark-worthy spots as opposed to the previous eleven. I'll see if it holds up. (And, just in case you're questioning, the red mark on my neck is a wound from my lovely bastard of a cat, not a pimple.)

02.26.06
Update: This one was going great for about the first month, but has since fallen by the wayside. I blame this one two things:
-Brian and I are having massive relationship problems, so a lot of my time is spent stressed and nervous and picking at my face in response.
-Work has become quite boring at points and I'm left with nothing to fill the time. Consequentially, I often pick at my face against to keep myself awake and moving.
Hopefully I'll be able to re-curb these issues, the first by settling some agreement with Brian, the other by taking on more duties to keep me busier at work.
01.30.06
Hide your eyes! (as if the giant red spots really needed to be pointed out...)

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	o	This is ridiculous. I’m twenty-two and I still have decently horrible acne. I’m incredibly pale—I generally despise the sun, and tanning is as retarded as regular smoking (I have recently learned that I enjoy the occasional cigar, so I can't trash smoking entirely)—so my oft-deeply-rosy cheeks (I get embarrassed easily) are bad enough. But I persist in having, at any given time, at least two-to-three large red spots, usually on my chin or forehead.
	o	So actually, it's not so much that it's bad and more that it's entirely unnecessary. When I get nervous or bored I don't bite my nails or pick at my eyelashes (my mom) or tap a pen; instead I pick at scabs [yeah, I'm gross]. This used to be all well and good when I went through the severe self-mutilation part of my life--people don't usually see my left arm for any particular reason, so the constant scabbing and irritation and giant red marks didn't really matter. But, since I quit that, what I pick at are the tiny bumps on my face. So what would ordinarily be an unnoticeable clogged pore for one or two days becomes a giant red inflammation, then a bloody mess, then a likewise giant red scab for one-to-two weeks. Disgusting, huh.
	o	But, now that I'm out of school and secure in a freaking awesome full-time job and with a not-too-infuriating boyfriend (he's well-grounded in reality and he hasn't cheated on me, so I'm getting there), there's no reason for me to be continuing with this nervous habit, especially at the detriment of my otherwise stunning beauty (that last bit's sarcasm, by the way).
	o	So, by December 31, 2006, I will be acne free and well on my way to picking up another self-afflicting nervous habit.