As I was going through the manuscript I saw that it really is a testament to my twenties. All of my heartbreak and growth, travel, exploration of self and psyche are in those pages. Some of it makes me blush, or even cringe a little. But it was who I was at the time. A lot of it isn't auto-biographical even thought it feels that way. I tried writing in persona a lot. Anyway. I'm pretty fascinated by it.
Sometimes I worry I'm becoming a bit of a hermit or bow too often to my solitarian self. I find myself less and less satisfied with social interaction. I'm bored easily by most conversation. When I'm out interacting with others I feel I'm letting myself waste away the hours I could be writing or contemplating. Or maybe I need new friends. I have good, solid friends but they are adults in their lives; they're parents, in partnerships, chasing their own dreams. Or I can just continue loving my solitude. The thing is, when I do interact socially I feel like an alien from another planet. Not that I'm uncomfortable but I live a life very much of my own making and I have little in common with others.
I saw my face in direct sunlight recently and saw for the first time that I am aging. I love it. I love the lines and defined muscles from a lifetime of smiling, emoting. I'm rather skinny these days so the lack of fat in my face exposes the edges, the bones and way skin is stretched across them. I have this interesting bone in my forehead that is a Huerta trait. I never really noticed it until I was in Mexico at the ranch and a half-aunt pitied me for it. Ah, you have that Huerta forehead, what a shame. There is a defined ridge where my brow bone meets my skull. It is subtle but now that I know about it I see it every day. The Huerta forehead. I kind of love my Huerta forehead.