Insane in the Membrane

My skin has gone nucking futs. I've always been a bit of an Italian greaseball. (Thanks for the genes, Dad; I hope that, like you, I'll end up looking 10-15 years younger than I am by the time I retire.) Sometimes, it all gets out of control. I got acne at age ten, and it's never really gone away. I've been on sundry medications, on and off. Then, when I was twenty-six, it got worse than it had ever been, very quickly, and refused to get better. I wound up on Accutane (which to me sounds like Beltane -- perhaps it's the ancient Celtic festival of erupting skin). It really helped me, and for the last six years I've felt normal.

But now it's back. In the last month, I've gone from Almost Adult skin to 15-year-old-with-raging-hormones skin. That's not the kind of youthful look I was hoping for. So this time, I'm nipping it in the bud. When I realized it wasn't going to go away, I called the dermatologist and have an appointment for the end of the month. I suppose there's a chance that food or stress or any great number of factors could be at play here, but there are so many variables that I wouldn't be able to control them all. And besides, I'd really like to just be able to live my life without being paranoid that a busy day at work or a yogurt at lunch is going to turn my face into a topographical map.

So, we'll see how that all goes. If, two months from now, my lips have half an inch of salve on them, you'll know I'm back on the 'Tane.

Here's hoping this time it sticks, huh? I'd hate to have to write this post again seven years from now. I'll be freaking forty, for Pete's sake.