Life is an adjustment. It seems irrational to say so, because it would appear that life is a series of adjustments. But the truth is we never settle. I don’t, at least. I’m always having to fit back into a mold and then I find out there’s a hole, or crack in the shell I was seeking comfort in. Then I get yanked out of it by my responsibilities, or sudden tragedies and let downs. Then, in trying to understand those things that befall me, I realize I forgot about this entire half of me that I was building, and I work towards that. But nothing is ever completed. I am never finished. In a sense, I never am. And if I am, I’m not the me I want to be, I’m trying to become that me…and then the definition of self I have must be manufactured all over again to appease my family, or friends, or someone I falsely think I love aka someone I need, or just so that I can stay sane and continue living without giving up. Christ, the difficulty in life. What a grand subtlety.