Day 37

I do not know if today is the thirty-seventh day. I do not know if I have counted upto thirty-seven or I am counting down and I have reached 37. I am not a big fan of counting days.
The numbers either represent the days I have tried not being myself or the days I have to wait to be. So why resist the natural order and count? Why do I try to unbalance my reality?

Maybe its the undermining self-belief that I am a far cry from perfection.
Or a subtle sign of my insecurities.

I am myself.
I am as proud as I'm arrogant. And egoistic. I despise losing and everyday life is a battle. I tear up when I'm sad. I'm filled with rage when angry. I procrastinate more on days I shouldn't.  I make promises to myself everyday, which I seldom keep. I cannot find order. I am messed up.
I embody the seven deadly sins, I might be the eighth. 
I have been moulded so and cast to be.
I am myself and will be.

Note : This was an attempt to create something random. A post from a name. I wonder if it makes sense at all. Ah! One of my early morning attempts to escape boredom on the way to work.
And of course to catalog my thought process at the not-so-young-but-matured age of twenty-three.