as much as i tell myself that i don’t care what people think about me, i’m constantly looking to impress people. especially people i knew way back when, when i was a preteen geek. the problem is: i still am a preteen geek, only now i’m twenty-two.

i think i have this burning need to prove that i’ve changed for the better, even if i haven’t. if anything, i think i’m way more pessimistic than ever, way more anxious, and just way more insecure in general. i always want to be the best at things, but then i never push myself to really achieve that goal. i make up excuses for my indecision, but it’s truly just me being the same me i was five years ago.

i still wear the same clothes from several years ago. i don’t know if that’s simply me being the fashion victim that i always am, or if my wardrobe serves as a metaphor for the lack of change in my life. my plaid flannel hopes and acid wash dreams.

nowadays, when i see people i’ve known the past — especially those i’ve hated in the past — i’m constantly scrutinizing myself. am i wearing enough make-up? are my clothes fashionable? i want to make myself seem grown up and living a life that has evolved somehow since the last time we met, when, in reality, i’m still living in the same bedroom, wearing the same clothes, listening to the same music, and being the same irresolute recluse i’ve always been. they’ve spread their wings and flown the coop while i’ve been rooted in the same dirty flower pot for years.

i hate mixed metaphors.