I should be grateful that I still have it in me to feel an angst so extreme that it can only be described as cheesy and disdainful. That just means there is hope yet. I actually have another place reserved just for moments like this, which are strictly meant to be hidden, so that at least in my head I can con myself into thinking I come off all breezy and cheerful and full of not-giving-a-fuck. But I'm not really into hiding the gremlin that I am anymore.
A pox. On all the fresh-faced beautiful girls with perfect messy curls out there, who're all light and breezy and don't give a fuck.