Burning Realisations

I am sorry to say that for the last three days or so, my life has revolved around my lips. I have a feeling that this bizarre waft of shameful vanity will continue to permeate up to the end of this week.

One of the best things about not being in school and being on vacation is that you have all of this time to spend. 

One of the worst things about not being in school and being on vacation is deciding how to spend this time. Wisely. 

This also applies to money. 

A month has already flown by, and I still could not think of anything at all that I did or that had happened to me, that I could grossly exaggerate and recount to people in school. Nothing. At all.

For instance, for the last three days, my complete existence revolved around my lips. My chapped lips. Forcing my very red, very stingy, very stubborn lips to undergo lip therapy was very hard indeed. By lip therapy I mean Vaseline - and the occasional apple-flavoured Chapstick.

Everyday, I see more and more of myself in the caricature that is Mr. Woodhouse from Austen's novel, Emma. Everyday, I realise that I am a hypochondriac. I seem to be a hyper-hypochondriac.

And reading an article from june's issue of Reader's Digest about the CA-MRSA bacteria (which could kill a person in 3 days), helped little. But, through the magic portals of wisdom that are Google and Wikipedia, I have thoroughly researched everything there is to know about the very serious condition that is chapped lips. Seriously, quiz me.

Now I realise that there are absolutely more important goins-on in the world today than my sore lips. Oil is at an all time high, lots of Burmese people are migrating illegally to Thailand to search for jobs, and there is that debate about women bishops in the Church of England. 

Frankly and superficially, they mean little to me and my chapped lips. What bothers me is the fact that I could not sleep well at night because of this supremely annoying sensation that my lips are on fire. Every morning, I have to check that my pillow is intact and unburnt. These chapped lips are my top priority at the moment. I even missed yoga for them.

More realisations follow as I write this post. One of these is how very much alike I am to Emma Woodhouse as well. She's superficial, I have my bouts of that too. She lived happily ever after, hopefully I will one day, too.

I seem to be the most shallow person in the world. 

After the tan people in The Hills.

To re-iterate, I seem to be one of the top 30 most shallow people in this planet. Not only have I let chapped lips occupy my days, now I am writing about them.