Clogged and oily.

No, I’m not talking about car troubles. I’m talking about zits on my face. Not the big and sore kind where pus oozes out when you try in sheer desperation to eliminate any unsightful trace before a big weekend date; just small dots that resemble a constellation from afar.

What can I say? My adolescent years are catching up with my twenty-something life.

While either in front of the bathroom mirror or in bed in a pensive (worrying) state, I have tried to pinpoint the precise reason for this untimely skin outbreak: Stress, perhaps? Toxin build up? Weather change (summer isn’t exactly my favorite season, you know)? Probably.

Hmmmm, how about my frequent work outs in the gym of late? Maybe. You see, zits are considered as an abnormal response to men’s normal testosterone levels. So if I lift more weights and develop more muscles, does it follow I’d get more zits?

Ah, I give up. I need not fuss over zits as Freud did on narcissism.

Truth is, if it weren’t for the job interviews ahead, I would care less. As one career-related cliche goes, first impression lasts. And having zits doesn’t exactly bring about confidence to leave a more mature, less juvenile demeanor, does it? Think about it: If zits are related to acne, and acne is known in scientific jargons as acne vulgaris, then I’d be sitting opposite a company’s HR personel with a face that screams in vulgar proportions: Don’t Hire Me, I’m A Piece Of Zit!

Darn.

Well, I’m hoping this is just a phase. Something I’d forget about when my skin clears up.

Hopefully real soon, though.

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