Matchbox Monday 10

(vintage book page, paper, board)

She/He was trying to imagine the story behind the incident.

A bright, windy day. The fallen leaves were rustling, my heels were doing their click-click thing, my light silk wool dress was floating around me in the gusts as I walked to the university today. Everything was pretty much perfect apart from the fact that I kept worrying if my neat, sharp bangs were history because of the wind (they weren't, I've learned to use hairspray in generous amounts - but damn are these bangs feeding my already numerous neuroses). So, everything actually was perfect on the outside, but it only made it harder to bear that nothing felt right. I'm sick of my wrist hurting, my nose running and my skin itching. I'm now allergic to the treatment for my allergy, hence the itching. Today is the most beautiful day of all autumn and I just can't think of anything but how badly I want to be someone else, to have someone else's life, an easy life, preferably. A life with no allergies, a life without social anxiety, a life without most of the things I currently have to deal with. Somehow English grammar and phonetics are the only things that seem to be making any sense right now. I wish I'd fit into a category. (I'd be happy to be other fricatives or a prepositional phrase...)