The worse things get the better I dress.

I have always held the theory that dressing in my grungy clothes is reserved for the sad days at home, or when I just don't care. When things are so bad that I need to convince myself I can still go on I wear makeup, I wear heels, I wear skirts. If things are that bad, I need to look like I can handle it. Even if I can't.

I take this cue from watching soap operas. My entire life the women in my family have watched NBC soaps. And damnit, those women look flawless, even when their husband of ten years is cheating on them. Again. Perhaps this has taught me something slightly skewed about being a woman. But I truly believe that if I feel bad enough putting on my prettiest clothes, even for a few hours a day is what it takes to keep things sewn together.

Today I pulled out an Ann Taylor dress for school. When I came home I changed into my pj's for a little bit. Then right back into jeans and heels for the hospital. Because my dad doesn't need to see me falling apart. He needs to see me looking sharp and in control. It doesn't matter that inside I'm falling apart, on the outside I'm sewn in by my prettiest threads.