It amazes me, what things make up the commentary on my state of mind.
The feeling of chaos. Maybe not that much is happening--I don't really know. I only know that I feel chaotic.
My emotions battle with countering thoughts, and it becomes difficult to tell whether the countering thoughts are comforts or justification for beating myself up for feeling the way I do.
Things are out of place, left where we dropped them.
Chris cleaned off those papers for you.
It seems that eating utensils appear on the counter 24-7, no matter how much we keep up with them.
PJ did the dishes today.
I need to vacuum the house. I need organize my books. I need to see this person and this person and this person, pronto! What do I not need to do?
Perhaps the things I think I need to do are not as important as I think they are; after all, no one is going to die from a thin layer of dust on the top shelf of the bookcase.
I feel frustrated that I want to curl up in the bedroom, tucked away from everything with my textbooks, handouts and laptop strewn across the comforter. If I do, maybe I can get everything done, and then I'll be happy, right?
I know that I'm drawing back from people more often than usual, lately. Why do I feel like I must choose between relationships and peace, and good grades and--well--chaos?
Surely "being perfect" isn't worth this, but honestly, I don't know how to not try to be.