A Comprehensive (But Not Exhaustive) Lists of All My Flaws
It's like there has always been too much of me.
I have too many clothes that I definitely don't wear, but how can anybody expect to give up my sophomore yearbook shirt, it's a fundamental part of my history, it's fibers have practically molded themselves to my bones. No, I don't care that I haven't worn it since 2019, what if I wake up in 2025 and that t-shirt is the only thing I want to wear, but instead, it's rotting in a Goodwill bin, because nobody else cares that much about high school year book t-shirts. What do I wear then?
I talk too much and too loud about things that people don't care about but if I don't say it right now, I'll choke on it, I swear. What if I die and those words are stuck in my throat and I can never change your mind and you never think of me when somebody tells that same joke? (Also I'm one of literally 40 people that crush and bend and fold ourselves into a single dining room every major holiday, if I don't yell, I may as well not speak, and as previously mentioned, that would do some serious damage to my ego.)
And speaking of ego, it's just another thing in me that has overgrown and like my front lawn, I have neglected to cut away the dead parts. So, it's wild and untamed and untended, probably full of bugs and weeds. I am the most important, I am the smartest in the room, I am the funniest, the best dressed. (False.) I do try the hardest, I can't stop, God knows I've tried. I care about other people and I tell myself it's for them, but I know the truth of it all. It's for me, I have to water the grass, I don't care that it's reaching my knees and the HOA keeps sending letters threatening to fine me over it. I don't care that it's dying and it's starting to smell like death too.
Moving away from the metaphorical (and incredibly tangled) ball of yarn I have become, I cannot stop buying things I don't need. I tell myself I will get organized, I just need another clear plastic bin to place on another bookshelf. If my dresser matches the frame of my mirror, I'm more likely to put my clothes away, right? If my desk has little porcelain cups for all my pens and paper clips, I'm definitely not going to avoid working for 6 days straight. I don't fold my laundry right away so I lose my socks all the time, and I don't even wear socks like 9 months out of the year, but I definitely need more before it's winter because the ones I wore last year all have holes in them because I wear shoes less than I wear socks and I'm outside all the time. If there's a special event, I need a pair of high heels, perhaps a dress to go with them, because all of the dresses I buy eventually end up in a bag that sits in the back of my car because I never wear dresses except when there's somewhere to go, and these tend to be one off occasions so I really don't need that pastel mini dress or the bright pink heels I bought to go with it, until I do and it turns out, I sold the dress at a garage sale last summer and I only made 6 bucks off it, even though it cost me 50.
Which brings us back into the metaphor of it all, because Net Loss of 44 Dollars Made with Good Intentions should really be the title of my autobiography. I won't elaborate on that right now, but you should know that it makes perfect sense.
It's never quiet enough, but in the same breath, it's too quiet and I'm too nervous that something is wrong. I have forgotten how to exist outside of myself and I am worried, deeply, that something in me is fundamentally wrong. Because there has always been too much of me and it has never been enough.













