i am my fucking khakis

aren't i? this is not at all thought out. rambling. frustration. confusion. fuck it.

shopping. new clothes, hair cut, glasses. it's nice. i look nice. i could lose a few more pounds. the root is i still don't know who i am. so i guess i am my khakis. other people think so, don't they? they look at you. what do they think? do they take in all that information, the subtleties, the turn of a wrist, a crinkle of the forehead, the general countenance, or is it just a balance sheet? how much did that shirt cost, how much did she spend for that haircut? what is this person worth? then we come to secondary concerns. what falls from the lips. incoherent nonsense. does anyone get it? should they? i could maybe make more sense, but i'm tired, always so tired. but i'll go ahead and post this anyway, because i know if i think about it i won't.

don't worry about me. i'll come to it sooner or later. it's a struggle. a lifelong struggle.

what i need to come to is a place where it doesn't matter to me what anyone thinks. but doesn't the fact that i'm not independently wealthy preclude that sort of enlightenment? being that my sustenance must come from my perceived value to others.