Me.

I never feel put together anymore, but most days I just don't care. I don't know if I ever was "put together" in the first place. My wardrobe has shrunk dramatically, but somehow I have a closet full of clothes, yet never anything to wear. I make it to work most days fully clothed and slightly accessorized (usually with a scarf no matter the season). That's an accomplishment lately.

I need a hair cut and an eyebrow wax in a most serious way. The at-home dye job I (actually, my husband) did has grown out approximately 3 inches. 75% of the time, the hair is in a knot on top of my head. Even though I don't especially like how I look with it up. It gets in the way when its down.

Besides these cosmetic flaws and fallen to the wayside-used-to-be-routine-priorities, I try to appreciate the hair on my head. The clothes on my back. The air in my lungs.

I have never been a totally put together person, but it seems like I am still waiting to wake up one day and feel that way. I can't figure out why. Blame Society? Growing up idolizing all the pretty ladies on the covers of fashion magazines?

I'm flaky, flighty and on a good day, quirky with a game plan. Clumsy, awkward and just plain nervous all the time on a ordinary day, and let's not talk about the bad days.

I wish I could get to a point in life where I stop thinking about how disappointed I am with myself. I know I am my own worst critic.

Not thin enough.
Pretty enough.
Put-together enough.
Happy enough.

Enough is enough.

This is me.

In crappy old BlackBerry Camera Phone Glory: