I have pink eye. Ew. I knew that my eyeliner-centric way of life would someday hurt me. I have been karmically impaled by the very instruments that I loved.
Curse you Maybelline and your seductive charcoaly sticks! And go to hell Liz Taylor, for being so sexily Egyptian in "Cleopatra." I think that by applying thick black goo, I secretly believed that I could be purple-eyed Liz and rule all of mankind from my throne of catty badassitude.
I was talking to a certain British Art Historian the other day and she mentioned that we (meaning me and the Brit) were the only two females in the Art and Art History Dept. that use makeup on a regular basis. I did not realize this. It calls into question the validity of my career choice. Do I want to be in a program that condones dowdiness? On the other hand, do I truly seek some kind of eye/lip kinship with Ms. Tammy Faye Baker? I need some time to think/treat my eye infection.
But seriously, I do feel kind of naked without my smudgy lil' ocular companion marks.
I have not applied eyeliner nor smoked in 3 days. My whole artist mythos is disintegrating. Without smoky eyes and a smokier smell, who will pay attention? I'll just be another Punky Brewster lookalike with a bad haircut and an oversized lollipop. Maybe I'll take up tap! Yeah, that's the ticket! And I'll wear lots of blush so that I appear charmingly self-conscious and red. I'm gonna be in pictures!