Disarray

I just realized that the ultimate act of self-loathing is to sleep on top of your clothes.

I mean, this is the stuff I put on my back everyday to look good, and I make nests out of it.

Ever since I was a kid, I've thrown it in piles, on chairs, desks, on the bottom of the closet. What gives?

I've got to fix that. Before I wake up hugging another skirt.