Problematic

It's finally the weekend!! Alas, my exhaustion never rests. Every day is some form of work. Chores are a terrible mire in my existence that I try to avoid but am condemned to wade into eventually. I haven't shaved my legs in about a week and I have no clean leggings to hide my shame in. I am not quite sure what clothes are clean, to be honest. My morning has been filled with resentment toward the artists I know that are not as constantly unkempt and disheveled as I. As I. I try to excuse myself with reminders that I work and go to school full time, but I know there are human beings that manage to maintain their illusion of being responsible adults while juggling these activities. I should start working out as well. I am beginning to feel more myself on the inside than on the outside. It is a small relief to be feeling more myself at all, I suppose. But I need to work out. My only concern is that I have built up so much momentum and any small goal I add could be the thing that...

Writing, I have been told (and am taking a refresher on in Comp II), is influenced by the desire to capture universal experiences. I spend a lot of time wishing I had the data on how many people are feeling the same thing I am. There is a great distance between myself and my past. Self-imposed seclusion from the majority of people I have history with. The common idea would be that it has formed a sort of scar on my psyche- I carry it with me, deeply ingrained in who I am, though I try to pretend it doesn't exist. Sometimes I look at it and it hurts. Sometimes I see the people who were there when it formed and it hurts. I wonder if they have scars in the same place. ------------------------------------------------ I have been working on this post for three weeks. It's been easier to think of other things to comment on, but I wanted to describe Houston a little bit from my point of view. I just wanted to be descriptive; I think I make a lot of opinion statements. ----------...