Things are supposed to move.

It's really weird how our perceptions of ourselves exist. How we judge and nitpick at our appearances and how we categorise and think about the things we do, and all the things about us that are 'us'. I caught myself recently, I was walking to a train station, looking down at myself and fussing about whether my shirt was tucked in properly and whether it was sitting right. It was like it just wouldn't quite sit right and it kept moving, and it was bothering me, and then I realised how unnecessary I was being.

These pictures are just here so that there are pictures.

I'm sure it would have looked fine from across from me, but I was looking down and trying to smooth out lumps and folds to perfection and have my clothing sit in perfect still harmony. Why? Why is that something I can't help but focus on? Tiny little things like that, that probably no one else cares about. It's pretty strange.

This sure is a picture.

I guess it's impossible not to do things like that sometimes, maybe, but I'm writing this as a reminder to myself to just calm down sometimes. Just live and let your shirt billow and your hair stick up. Honestly, just don't worry about it. Things are supposed to move. And here we are, all the time, trying to stop everything and staple it down. That's not how it works. That's not how anything works. Come undone and fall in the mud instead, and maybe you'll have a better time for it.