imperfect

(from Emil's)
It feels like everyone has turned to stare at me and I can't find the correct position to be in. So here I am, all slouchy and feeling quite off.
Some things that have been on my mind lately:
- his cold feet cooling mine when I was burning hot 
- sleeping on the living room floor when I felt like I was coughing my lungs out bit by bit
- finishing books (started in Turku) on the living room floor while watching Brideshead Revisited and Ashes to Ashes
- heartbreaking insecurity
- crying at night because I get too much email and I currently apparently suck at getting back to people 
- choosing not to get back to everyone
- being proud of the books I made earlier
- re-writing a book of poems I thought I had finished
- I really need to be in the top 5% or I have no idea what I'll do in the autumn
- good food: strawberry-halloumi salad, fresh peas in a horseradish sauce
- reading David Mitchell
- neverending pollen allergy
- too hot
All in all, I wish I was in a better mood, especially now that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be with the person I wish to be with. I wish I knew how to not behave childlishly when my soup's not hot or when my feet hurt or when I have 99 unread Etsy messages waiting to be replied with "Beautiful! Thanks so much!" (that's not what I want to say, even though it's basically what I mean - I've run out of words that look the way I feel).
I wish someone would give me a flower. I wish I knew how to give something. I wish there were more moments like when I asked V, ottaisitko mun jalan taas syliin? would you take my foot onto your lap again?, when we were a tangly mess making crossword puzzles and playing xbox on the sofa. I probably don't need to mention it, but I'm going to anyway: I had nothing to do with the xbox. I'm the crossword puzzle girl. 
Kind of imperfect, even when I know this right here is perfect. I always end up remembering everything else.

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...)