So much homework... so, of course, I blog.

It's just the Megalesia again, continued, but I will say that yesterday I forgot to mention it was the birthday of Castor, Pollux, Clytemnestra, and Helen of Troy, the four children of Leda that were born from the eggs she laid after her seduction by a swan.

Castor and Pollux were the twins that we know as the Gemini. For the COMPLETELY uninformed, Pollux was the son of Jupiter/Zeus when he mated with Leda in the form of a swan, and Castor was his brother and the son of Leda's mortal husband Tyndareus, who slept with Leda right after her rape. They were so close to each other that even in death, they couldn't bear the thought of parting and Pollux shared his immortality on Olympus with his brother, at the cost of spending half of each year in the Underworld. They are considered deities presiding over St. Elmo's Fire and horsemanship, and were protectors of guests and travelers.

Castor was born from the same egg as his also-mortal sister Clytemnestra, who later grew up to marry Agamemnon, cheat on him with his steward while he was off fighting the Trojan War, then kill him on his return. Pollux was in the other egg with the infamous Helen of Troy, who-- okay, man, if you don't know who Helen of Troy is, I can't help you. Go read a book. I recommend The Iliad.

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Sometimes when I'm having a bad clothes day, when I can't seem to find anything that is clean and that I like, I wonder to myself what Stacy and Clinton would say about my wardrobe. Pure speculation, of course, because even if I did have family or friends that were cruel enough to subject me to What Not To Wear (Shrewd would do it if she thought I needed it, except then they'd interview her and she'd have to be on TV, too), they wouldn't want me because I'm not a tight-leather-pants-at-age-40 level of bad dresser.

Still. One of the common things I hear the little imaginary Stacy in my head say is "That makes you look old." And it's true. Pretty much everything I bought in high school besides a couple pairs of jeans makes me look old. I've been slowly adding to my wardrobe with some tighter T-shirts as I've lost weight and can pull them off, but most of my closet looks like I stole it from someone a decade older than me. The clothes aren't bad, they just don't work for a college student.

Plus I look old in general-- I have emerging laugh lines already, consequences of sun and only learning to care for my skin recently, and then not caring enough to do it all the time. So on a day like today when I do my laundry and I wind up wearing something that adds about ten years, all day long I hear this nagging voice in my head saying "You look old, you look old." Totally Stacy's voice. They say you are your own harshest critic. My harshest critic, style-wise, is a little imaginary stilettoed fashionista who lives in my head and hates my closet.

That's why I hesitate to buy cool stuff like high-heeled red boots. Because Stacy is whacking my frontal lobe with the pointy part of her shoe (wait, it's all pointy) screaming "ARE YOU INSANE??? DO YOU WANT TO LOOK LIKE A HOOKER??? WHY DON'T YOU JUST GET THE MACE AND WEAR IT WITH YOUR BODICE, AND PICK UP EXTRA MONEY ON THE WEEKENDS???"

(Seriously-- anyone who looks at my Ebay history will think I'm trying to become a costumed vigilante or something. A mace, thigh-high heeled boots, and various out-of-print comics [for reference material, of course!]. Well, costumed vigilante or amateur dominatrix with a comic fixation. Not entirely sure which one is worse...)