Adequately Inadequate.

Sounds of high heels chipping away at iced pathways; scarves worn for decoration over warmth. Torrents of rain and heaps of sleet replacing the assumed normality of snowfall. Members of my demographic sporting push-up bras, accentuating heavy cleavages revealed by ridiculously low necklines.

Spring at last.

I want to be free of this, God. I want to go somewhere where no one knows me and dash my way through some abandoned wheat field far from all civilization, yet at the same time I want to waste money on an energy-guzzling mini-fridge and lock myself in my room for a while, entirely undisturbed. Which is more beneficial to the creative process? Solace in nature or isolation of self?

I am ridiculed for maintaining a lack of desire for sexual contact. I am bashed for never having experienced the effects of drugs, I am belittled for possessing no desire to consume alcohol. Simply because immorality has become socially acceptable, why am I considered to abnormal to abstain from it all? Who are these beings to make judgements of me? Who do they believe they are?

I don't deal well with these individuals, these people surrounding me. A lingering feeling heavies my heart, one which tells me that I do not belong here. Why do I continue pretending? Because it's socially non-redeeming to act the contrary? Because I've become disillusioned with the notion that I am meant to become one of them?

My identity is tangible, but simultaneously, lost.

And the fact I even feel this detached forces me to question my own integrity.

Honestly, how much more pretentious can I possibly get with these goddamn entries? Perhaps I'll write something less self-important next time.

My sincerest apologies.