Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Me and my light box. First date.

Day one of light therapy.

It is bright. Very bright for five thirty am.

This ugly ass hospital sad looking thing lights my entire apt. But it is like prison lighting...or the lighting at work. And is about 18 inches from my face so you can imagine how enjoyable it is. And I don't even get a tan. Stopped tanning since I realized my skin was going to look like a sharpay if I didn't stop. And didn't want to waste the money on botox if I was going to fry my skin. I am certainly going to need botox because this light is making me squint and I like it better when that ability has been poisioned out of my face.

My favorite part of this experience so far was my doctor trying to find places for me to use this thing and ways to excuse the fact I have a neon movie screen a foot from my face.
"You could use it at work....as a lamp." I looked at the box. No way in hell anyone is buying it is a new fashion-y...or even ugly.... lamp. It just is not happening. I will not be setting that trend. And I already have given everyone enough "he's an artist and nuts" qualifiers that I can't also be bringing movie screens to light me at work.

And now packing this fucker anytime I go anywhere the sun doesn't shine is going to be fun as well. My crazy is starting to cost me.

Allright. SO this part of "therapy" is done for the day. And I have taken my hand full of nutter pills. I have become a new york cliche. Well....another new york cliche.

I am Woody Allen.

However I did just look in the mirror and it kind of does light you a bit like a make up light at a make up counter. Maybe I should just take it around with me...My own light and imperfection diffuser....like Barbara Walters light....all the time. More to come. Maybe my assistant can wear it as a backpack and walk in front of me. I would look flawless....maybe I need a couple...




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