Last week, Mickey called me out on the fact that I had back to back Wordless Wednesday posts. I meant to post Tuesday, so I could put up a photo on Wednesday without going for three in a row, but, I didn’t get to it, so I didn’t post at all. How do you like me now, Mickey? :)

Here’s a rundown of things that have happened since I last used actual sentences in a blog post.

• Argo had another bump, and I had to take him for a needle biopsy. It turned out to be benign, thank goodness, and our vet is so incredibly awesome about calling the very second the results come in.
• I’ve been working on a project with brand new characters and it’s occupying my brain to the point where I feel like I can’t communicate, beyond a tweet here and a Facebook comment there, for whole chunks of my day. That’s not a complaint. I love being absorbed like that. I love loving a story and characters so much that I can’t stop thinking about them. I just feel bad for ignoring phone calls or forgetting to answer e-mail, and worry that I qualify for the crappy friend award this month. This too shall pass (I promise!), once I get a little further in to the project, and our home life quiets down a bit.
• I got my character playlist right.
• We had a fire in our microwave.
• I ordered holiday cards that I think are hysterical, but once I got them I started worrying that everyone else might think they’re mean. They aren’t mean. They’re funny, okay? Of course this is all a moot point if I never get them in the mail . . .
• Stella has been out of sorts since we had a house full of guests at Thanksgiving. She’s decided she won’t eat unless I sit next to her while she eats and don’t attempt to do anything other than sit there and watch her eat. She has me well trained. At least I don’t have to squat with her while she pees anymore. And I have to admit that it’s actually kind of nice to have a small span of time that cannot be occupied with anything other than hanging out with my dog.
• J and I watched all the MI-5 episodes there are to watch, and to sublimate my withdrawal, I’ve developed a mean Mythbusters addiction.
• We still don’t have a bathroom. We hired a contractor, because neither of us have the time or ability to finish the bathroom ourselves. At first, it seemed like we would actually have a bathroom by Christmas, but now it’s seeming like the idea of having a bathroom by Christmas was utterly absurd to begin with. Not only, that, but since Christmas and New Years fall right into the mix of things, we’ll have lots of days when no one will be working, but we still won’t have a bathroom. They are doing great work and are super nice, but it really sucked to get my hopes up and then have them smashed. Living here right now is a lot like camping, except I still have to vacuum, there’s no good hiking, The Crap Garden doesn’t exactly qualify as a scenic view, and the coin-op showers at the last campground I visited were far nicer than the shower in our basement.
• I can’t seem to get my crabbypants off. It’s like they’re stuck on my freakishly large calves or something.

I’m feeling better now. Thank you for indulging my mopiness.

To be completely honest, it probably had more to do with the trip I took two weekends ago, and less to do with what I looked like on TV. I feel a little sheepish about the whole thing now. I’m usually pretty good at figuring out what’s bugging me, and I should have taken a step back and given everything a look before I started spouting off about my cankle chin or lack thereof.

I had to go to a place I’ve avoided like the plague for the past decade or so, with an old friend I hadn’t seen in a long time, and with whom I have an inordinate amount of baggage, and it was just a lot of emotion packed into a not short enough time (although, the total plus was that I did get to meet Noelle, see a few old friends, and meet some amazing people at the inn where I stayed).

I was actually due back last Monday, but was so tired that I had to crash at a hotel 2 hours away from my house because I couldn’t keep my eyes open while driving. Unheard of for me. I am a trooper. I will chug coffee and do jumping jacks at every available rest stop if need be, but it just wasn’t working, and I didn’t feel that having a meeting with the guardrail would be productive.

Last week, I was just plain worn out and overly emotional and trying to put things in their place mentally. But now I’m caught up on sleep and settled back in. I had an awesome series of chats with Lady, which always makes everything better. I’m starting to feel like me again.

And yesterday, while pulling dead marigolds out of the garden, I had an idea for a new character. A random sentence flashed in my head and I started working around it. Something about fall yard work is particularly inspiring. I’ve had many a great idea while freezing my butt off picking up dead plant matter. Since I have an awesome awesome guest post up on the other site today, I’m looking forward to hunkering down with way too many cups of tea and seeing what happens with my new imaginary friend. Today, life is good.

Okay, I feel totally ridiculous for how much this whole TV thing got to me. And I found a way to make myself feel better. I’m posting a picture of myself looking completely grubby. The only makeup I’m wearing is the stuff I didn’t quite manage to wash off last night. My hair is a mess, and I’m wearing a shirt I’ve had since high school (hey grunge! I still love you!)

How is this helping?

Well, because I think what was bothering me was that I felt like what was out there was a very distorted version of me. I am comfortable with actual me, but I didn’t feel right about cankle-necked washed out me. So this picture is my confidence booster. If I can say, here it is, here I am, this is me, I think I can get past this. I’m silly and I’m goofy and I don’t always worry about washing off all my mascara at night and some days I don’t put on real clothes and I’m fine with it. I’m a nice person, and I’m smart, and I care about things, and that’s what’s important. I don’t feel the need to be perfect. I just want to feel like me. Maybe that doesn’t make any sense, but I think it’ll make me feel better.

So here I am.

Yesterday, I wrote this really long diatribe about how confident and comfortable I am in my own skin now and how I like me and I’m proud of my accomplishments. Then the segment I taped came on TV and I got distracted and didn’t hit send.

They were so kind to me at the station and I am really so thankful for the opportunity, but can I just say Holy unflattering camera angle, Batman! I’m trying to be good and recognize that I don’t really look like that. It’s a combo of angle and lighting and all that fun stuff. There is actually definition between my neck and my face and I don’t have the neck version of cankles. At least not that badly. I am trying really hard. I am also trying to think, so what if I looked bad. I’m not my appearance. I have a brain. That’s what’s important. And I sounded okay. I really did.

But the irrational part of me is still not ready to get out of my pajamas, and is actually taking the whole thing pretty hard.

This is totally not a cry for “oh, you looked good” compliments. This is a cry for “oh, I don’t think you’re superficial, I know how you feel,” commiseration.