My little sister is angry with me. Why? Because I moved the wreath she put in my office (without my permission, I might add) and it landed upside down. Seriously? She bitched me out, this little girl, because her stuff isn't where she wants it in my room. WTF?
More and more, I feel closed in, boxed up....claustrophobic. My office is too messy (and now it's full of toys and other people's Christmas presents) my clothes aren't hung straight, my bed isn't made well enough. I leave for work too late, I wake up too early, I'm too loud in the morning and too quiet at the dinner table. I work too much, I'm not getting enough hours, why am I awake so late? I need to get to bed, I need to stop writing. I feel like I'm fifteen all over again, with everything wrong and this awful, anxious feeling in my stomach. I'm lying about so much, condensing myself and hiding so many things, but still, still I am not acceptable. I can't wait to go to Michigan - my parents like me so much more when I'm just a nice concept, and they can't see all my imperfections.
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