Cold rain on warm skin

I spent my entire day in my bed, reading. I haven't been doing much of anything this past week. I have no energy and no desire to make an effort.

I haven't been going outside, or putting on make-up, or eating proper regular meals, I've only been showering minimally (enough to be clean, but not enough to be properly presentable). I haven't been bothering to take proper care of myself one might say. 

I'm not sure my mother appreciates this. She doesn't think I look very nice when I do this. I feel like she doesn't understand that that's the point. 

I'm inside alone. I don't have to look nice. There's no point in making any efforts.

I hadn't realised how much I'd missed it. How much I had missed being able to not give one damn about how I look. To be able to go out for a walk with no make-up, unbrushed hair, unflattering clothes, in the rain and looking like a drowned rat.

We care too much these days. I hadn't realised how afflicted with this concern for looks I had become. I wouldn't go out without doing something with my hair, or spreading cosmetics over my face. For fear of not being presentable.

Not being presentable to who? I don't think anyone knows the answer to that.

People will always prod at other people. And so we all suffer the influence of the prodding. But every now and again it's nice to ignore what everyone thinks. To walk outside in the rain and look like shit.

It's funny how looking like shit can feel so much better and far more liberating than looking perfectly presentable and nice.

I think that we all need to remember that sometimes.