I had a deeply unsettling experience in my bathroom this morning. I walked up to the sink, splashed some water on my face, looked up into the mirror, and honestly wondered who let the nice, silver-haired lady into my house. Given the level of supernatural woo woo that is active in this house, for a moment, I thought I was looking at the true form of one of our beloved ghosties. But no. I was the ghost this time.
Inside my head, I am perpetually thirty-five. I am vibrant, a little dangerous, and entirely convinced that I can still pull off a dramatic exit from a room. My internal ecosystem operates on the assumption that my skin possesses the bounce of a fresh marshmallow. Then I catch my reflection in a store window or under the aggressive, unforgiving fluorescent lights of a public restroom, and the cognitive dissonance hits like a splash of ice water. Or a fire hose of it.
To read the full article, go to the Body of a Goddess blog: https://krasbold.substack.com/p/the-vanishing-act