Pieces of Myself

I leave expensive pieces of jewelry on my dirty white couch for people to sit on. My clothes are thrown about in a careless manner, and I can’t seem to find the strength to put them away. So, my house cleaner throws them into the laundry when she cleans my room. When they’re clean, I wear them again and toss them back on the floor when I’m done. They end up in the laundry again—even though they’re not dirty. This cycle repeats endlessly. 

I have walked through my neighborhood more times than I can count. I know the same houses like the back of my hand.  hate the modern-style houses; their rigid white edges clash with the classic Spanish ones. They look garish. Worse are the fluorescent holiday lights some houses put up, which only add to the garishness. I want to find a new neighborhood to explore, but I’m too lazy to make the effort. And so I stay here. It is quite annoying because I am growing more tired of the same scenery every day. 

I text people and wait all day for a response. I text about stupid things—things no one cares about. If I’m not constantly surrounded by people, I start to unravel. You could even say that I start to go slightly crazy. My room becomes messier, and I dive into more books to fill the void. The words on the page comfort me, even if I have nothing in common with the characters. I realize that when I don’t have anyone to hang out with, I write and read more. Is that a blessing or a curse? 

I want a job, but no one will hire me. So, I sell the clothes I impulsively bought—clothes I’ve grown to hate. I’ve become a victim of microtrends. Selling them doesn’t bring in enough money, so I rely on my parents. How sad is that? I should try harder to get a job, but my only experience is a summer gig that barely paid minimum wage. I think I have social anxiety; I don’t know how to talk to customers. I don’t tell my possible employers this fact about me. Obviously. 

I spend money on workout classes and clothes that don’t really do anything. My body stays the same because I can’t muster the courage to change my diet. I skip breakfast, but still find myself standing in the pantry, snacking on foods I know are bad for me. It’s frustrating, and I don’t know how to stop. I sweat like there’s no tomorrow during workouts, but still wake up bloated. Before bed and when I wake up, I poke my stomach. It is pudgy and hard. How do I break this cycle?

Today, on my drive home from a workout class, I noticed a group of men dismantling the old bus stop on Crescent Heights—the one where my nanny and I used to sit. It made me sad. A piece of my life was being removed. It reminded me of how I would be leaving soon. I will be in college soon. All of the aspects of myself listed above will change. And it is inevitable. There is no stopping it.