Sick.

I'm very, very sick.

And what is this ailment?

Why, it is me. I am so, so sick of myself.

I am sick of being late.
I am sick of my apparent inability to accurately judge time and how long it will take to accomplish any given thing.
I am sick of clutter.
I am sick of my inability to effectively de-clutter.
I am sick of my ability to re-clutter.
I am sick of doing almost everything alone.
I am sick of my ill-proportioned body.
I am sick of my desire to incessantly eat chocolate.
I am sick of my inability to say what I want to say, when I want to say it.
I am sick of not knowing what to say when I want to say something.
I am sick of social anxiety.
I am sick of being accused of doing things I have not done and I am sick of being treated like scum.
I am sick of working long hours for paltry wages, and I am sick of working where I do.
I am sick of being sad,
I am sick of being alone,
I am sick of wanting something I cannot have,
and I am sick of wanting something that I do not need.