Or how taking care of myself was supposed to make me feel better, but it did even more than that.
I’ve never lived with people other than my family. At least, I haven’t, until September last year, when as you probably know, I moved to Glasgow with my boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, I’m not sure what exactly are we now, but I don’t have to classify it either.
Anyway, I am now living with 6 other girls, and I’m sharing a room with one of them. One can only imagine the queue in front of the bathroom early in the morning. It’s true, the more the better, it’s funnier that way, but I’m craving some time for myself and some privacy. And today I got it.
Some of my roommates are working, others went out for the day. With so much free time on my hands and nothing to do, nowhere to go, I decided to take care of myself. I’m now writing this while taking a bath, listening to music on lightened candles. And it DOES get cheesier – I’ll do my nails, I’ll make a facial mask, I’ll probably put on some make-up. No, I’m not going out, I’m doing it for myself. I go to work wearing jeans and a T-shirt, with my hair in a bun and zero make-up. Why bother? It’s work.
Since I’ve already started, why not put a dress and high heels and wander around the flat. Yes, yes, I’m doing that. After all, true beauty is not something visible. It’s a state of mind. Wouldn’t hurt to feel beautiful once a week, would it now?
M. Stefanova, 2013