{less useless?}

every so often i feel the need to change the shape of my eyebrows. yes, strange: i look at my reflection & wonder why i bothered in the first place to pluck away the lovely, thick brows of my childhood. (i wanted to look older? sexier? boring?) i take a restrained plucking regimen, whisking away only those that patently do not contribute to a thick, defined brow. & invariably, as my goal is in sight, i am possessed by madness! i pluck away my hard-won hairs back to their boring predecessor.

i am fighting off my madness.

i am trying to not see myself as an utter fucking failure. & no, this isn't about perfectly manicured eyebrows anymore. i spin about, as if a bit of my steering mechanism is missing. truly! it is missing! i don't know how to reconcile my life like an equation; i don't want to! i resist! but then i find myself asking questions of purpose, of an assumed meta-narrative--why the fuck to i undermine myself so? why must everything be an investment?

i think i might need to make some friends. maybe not fuck them over & make myself a social pariah?