In My Time of Dying

Dear Internet,

Ordinarily my sweat glands are totally out of control at work. And by out of control I mean that I base the outfit I'm going to wear on how much sweat will show through my clothes either through sweat stains or through baseball player-type salt stains. Recently, however, I haven't been sweating all that much. Initially I thought it might be because I've finally, after 28 years, become comfortable in my own skin. But that can't be it, because my odd decision making, especially in walking down the street, what I eat, and how I speak, is still so carefully considered, that it can't be less self-awareness. It must be some other biological change, for worse or better.

What I've ultimately decided is that I'm consuming less alcohol which has caused me to perspire less. For those of you who have witnessed my outfit selections, you will understand the great pains I have taken to sweat less, disguise sweat, and not look like a disaster over the past several years. Well, let's be honest, more than several. But now, to be confronted with less sweat? What the hell kind of curve ball is that?

All of these years I've had one constant: sweating unnecessarily to the point of embarrassment -- and now that's gone too. So not only am I dealing with regularly cold ass weather, but also no regularly insane perspiration. I'm dry as a corn field in Kansas in September. (That little simile is something I created on my own and I don't even know if it's accurate, but I do know that if I drive out of Chicago 2 hours south, 2 hours west, or 2 hours east I will see corn fields. I also figure that harvest is sometime in and around September. We might even be able to find a sign that says...)



Back to the sweating. Although this is something that, ultimately, is awesome, it is also something that causes a great deal of concern for me. Have I lost my edge? Am I some mild mannered person who can handle things all of sudden? Did I all of a sudden become even keel? I think not. There must be something larger at stake:



Via:



And...



And...



And...



Oh yea, and...


God. This is bad.

Shelly