Janet (j4) wrote,

what's in the box

... or rather what's in my head at the moment.

After having a grotty random stomach bug all yesterday I'm feeling a lot better today, which is in a way rather irritating, I would have much rather felt well last night when lnr was there (though it was lovely of her to come and keep me company) and been ill today so I could at least have the day off work. Even if I'm ill, being off work seems to make me feel better mentally. Ho hum.

In other health news, last night I actually slept all night! At least, if I did wake up in the middle of the night, then I don't remember it. This is something of a novelty for me. ... I found myself wondering whether my trouble sleeping is partly to do with the sense I have that I need to be doing something useful with my life. I don't consciously lie awake worrying about things most of the time (except when I have real trouble getting to sleep for no apparent reason, and then I worry about not sleeping) but if my brain is somehow programmed to think "must be doing something useful in order to be worthwhile" then sleep won't really fit into that picture too well. At least, given the way I tend to evaluate "useful", which doesn't tend to include things like Looking After Myself.

I was thinking about something addedentry said about girls who wear glasses in a post the other day. (I was going to stick this in a comment, but decided I wanted to think about it a bit more, and ramble in my own journal instead.) He said:

I try not to analyse why girls in glasses make me tremble. There are trite connotations of studiousness, of course, but I can't help fearing that they also imply incapacity just as much as high heels and impractical clothing.

I hadn't thought of it like that before, but he's right, of course. I think the studiousness is part of that, too, because of the (equally trite) perceived correlation between mental prowess and physical weakness.

There's also the element of concealing-while-revealing -- by covering the eyes (albeit with something transparent), you draw attention to them. The eyes are supposedly the window to the soul, and there's nothing like a bit of curtain-twitching at that window, a few silhouettes appearing in a kind of compromising shadow-play, to get everybody interested in what's going on behind it.

There are a million different ways to remove one's glasses, as well. It's as tricky as performing a successful striptease. (Removing one's glasses and letting one's hair down in one simultaneous action is an advanced manoeuvre which shouldn't be attempted by amateurs.) Removing glasses can be like removing a mask to reveal the "true" face; it can be a challenge, a casting-off of one's armour in the confidence that one can still win without that safety net; it can be an expression of vulnerability, reducing oneself voluntarily to a state in which one must be led, guided, directed by another.

There's also the benefit that you know the person removing their glasses will only be able to see you in soft-focus thereafter, which when you have cellulite like mine can only be an advantage.

Ugh, there were other things I wanted to ramble about, but I'm running out of time in which to do so, and my brain feels all tired and fuzzy. I think I'd better give up for now.

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