I'll be one to admit, the summer breezes ensuing the distant comforts of tropical living entice a sort of uniformity in the appearance of my wears in which the same denim shorts, plain shirt and comphy-cool sandals oddly find themselves vacating my extremities on a day to day basis.
I blame, say the heat, for this obtuse intuition to stifle perpetual boredom of converse to a likely unconventional wardrobe. The external melting of my flesh is placating a similar effect upon my heart and its innate idiosyncrasies.
When I entrust such broad language in to my lexicon, you know its a problem...
But is it?
We spend so much of our (my) time in an endless strife to achieve the complex and thereby noteworthy heights of style in order to better our personal definition of individuality. But, does it make me a better person because I pursue my second or third amendment entitlements to a multiplicity of freedoms more passionately and attentively than you? Most likely. But why? I honestly couldn't tell you.
In truth, I ENJOY wearing the same denim cut-off shorts– lies, typically running shorts designed in mind for Costco shoppers and avid ass-on-couch sitters –because sometimes it's too gosh damn hard to be differnet. Ya know? Conformity is fun sometimes, less factors to balance in maintaing the constituency of simply (and satirically) being me.
If it's any better, I will provide you with a contrastingly excessive variety of facial expressions nearing those of a deranged female adolescent in an obsessive, yet ceaseless array of expressions care of selfies most prime via Sunday.
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