Ink Porn

I’ve stuck my pen into every part of my face today.

I’m still getting used to the new me. The me that sits at a cubicle on the top floor of a corporate building. The me that is in charge of hiring designers intead of the other way around. The me that wears skirts every day instead of the usual sweatpant/way-too-old-to-still-wear t-shirt. The me with hair coifs.

Apparently the new me also likes to stick pens my face. In my defense, though, a pen offers mucho acupuncture-like relief. I can press it into my eyelid and the headache goes away almost instantly. Press it into my cheek, and I don’t feel like scarfing on the keyboard because I only had a salad with the girls for lunch. I’ve bitten it, massaged my temples with it, rubbed my forehead with it, and my tongue knows exactly how to make the tip appear…all in an attempt to add fuel to the fire of a born-again habit that I’d long forgotten. I am an Ink Porn Queen.

I’m still quite blue, but with a little help from my friends (pardon the Beatles lyric), I’m beginning to realize what’s worth worrying about. My heart is often in a knot, of course, but taking time with the pain a few minutes a day seems to help a bunch. If he can wait forever, so will I – but I guarantee I’ll have a much more fabulous time doing it.

Oh, and I bought the most amazing office clothes. The boys simply can’t stand not to look at me twice.