Late night paper-writing. Let the introspection begin.

I hate this house of cards feeling, but for some reason I just can't be honest with myself or the people around me. It makes me want to count down the days until i can escape and just start over and do it right. Even though i really did just fine this time.

When will everything be enough that I don't feel the need to start from scratch and construct it all to my satisfaction?

When will I be able to say that it's okay that I am not the most athletic, or the thinnest, or the most beautiful, or the most fun, or the most sought after? When will I be able to just present myself as i am... and be content with that?

In truth, perfection in anyone else is so boring. I notice and adore the quirks of all my loved ones. It's what makes them endearing. (mostly)

So why this determined push to eliminate all quirks within myself?

Probably because mine have always made me feel like a freak. Everyone else got beautiful quirks. I can't put my finger on mine, but they're odd and must be suppressed at all costs.

They're not endearing. Just... undear.

12:45 a.m. - 2003-04-02