It is the blight that man was born for, separating and thickening without clumps that you mourn for

So I continue fumbling along in this perfectly hideous mood. Not exactly sure what’s behind it. Stress? Exhaustion? Yesterday I went on a two hour crying jag because I’d misplaced a mostly used-up sheet of stamps. Stamps! You are ruining perfectly good mascara over $2.22, the little voice in my head told me sternly. But hey! what’s a little mascara when you’ve already ruined your life and in another 25 years you’re gonna be dead?