{5}I think? Who even knows any more. Also, who knew make up was so fun??

And no, I didn’t write yesterday. My rules. Saturdays don’t count. SH.

I’m allowed to not write on Saturdays, I decided, because Saturday is the day I take care of friendships and family. I live a minimum of two hours a way from a lot of my friends and four or so hours away from my family, which means after 4–8 hours of driving plus whatever people time I put in, when I get home I’m right beat. So. If Saturday writing happens, I’m calling it a damn bonus. Goddammit.

BUT. On to the fun stuff.

I’m pushing 40 years old and, aside from a very ill advised but obligatory bout of Goth-ism in the mid-nineties, I never wore makeup. Didn’t get it, wasn’t interested. Admired it on drag queens, that was about it.

In all honesty, I didn’t think I was pretty enough for it. But that’s for another, sadder piece of writing on another, sadder day. For now, I’m pretending I don’t have a migraine by thinking about pretty eyeshadow palletes.

(Ya’ll, I reeeaaaaallly have a fucking migraine.)

So a weird thing happened when I got divorced. (I call it getting divorced because “break up” sounds so high school and ya’ll, when there’s joint accounts and car loans involved, that shit’s a divorce.) I decided I wanted things like “a skin care regime” and “make up brushes.” I have no idea where these desires came from. (In fact, I do. My friend…