The Melting Pot of Traits- "Study But Don't Stalk"

I am slouched in a chair, distant from the atrium full of people blocking me from my class. I'll be late soon. I'm anxious because this particular crowd is so off-putting. I don't fit with them.
I'm confused as to why I wore these dirty old girl jeans. I've just gotten my hair done, you see. It's a new style of mullet gaining quick popularity in the U.K.: Guy-feathered in the front, messy windblown in the back. I look like an Abercrombian Medusa. Therein lies the problem. The super mullet is itchy, and goes badly with the girl jeans, which are also quite itchy.
There is only one way to get through this crowd: The mustache. With the mustache's new found popularity comes the ability to look like a freak and still be hip. I have grown this emergency mustache for just such an occasion.
The distorted tattoos on the sides of my wrinkled old face would also have the crowd upon me in a heartbeat. I've had to grow sideburns in order to conceal them from prying eyes. The mustache and the sideburns are locked in a battle of facial hair bravado, and I find it hard to keep my attention on the matter at hand.
Im anxious. I fear that even if I do penetrate the crowd, that I will not know the place in which I end up. I consult with the voices in my head. They are chatty today, to say the least.
"Where are we?" they ask.
"Where have we ever been?"

Keyword Traits:
Confused
Distracted
Off-Put
Rushed
Distant
Talkative
Anxious
Lost
Itchy
Tattooed
Wrinkled
Mustached
Grundgy
Girl-Jeans
Super Messy Hair Style
Sideburns
Feathered Guy-Hair
Slouched

-15 Marked
Here I slouch in a chair, distant from the atrium full of people blocking me from my class. I'll be late soon. Anxienty hits, because this particular crowd is so off-putting. I don't fit with them.
So confused as to why I wore these dirty old girl jeans. My new hair style do, you see. A new style of mullet gaining quick popularity in the U.K.: Guy-feathered in the front, messy windblown in the back. I look like an Abercrombian Medusa. Therein lies the problem. The super mullet is itchy, and goes badly with the girl jeans- also quite itchy.
I find only one way to get through this crowd: The mustache. With the mustache's new found popularity comes the ability to look like a freak and still be hip. For just such an occasion, the emergency mustache came to be.
The distorted tattoos on the sides of my wrinkled old face would provoke the crowd in a heartbeat. New sideburns, in order to conceal them from prying eyes. The mustache and the sideburns, locked in a battle of facial hair bravado, make it hard to keep my attention on the matter at hand.
So anxious. I fear that even if I do penetrate the crowd, I will not know the place in which I end up. I consult with the voices in my head. Very chatty today, to say the least.
"Where do we go?" they ask.
"Where from here?"

Last Revision

Set down deep in this chair, far away from the disturbing tumult of people up ahead. I can't seem to settle my nerves, running so far behind.

Why am I still wearing these jeans? Day 3. I can't get them off-so tight and caked with filth, they've become part of my body.

My skin so irritated. It was all I could do to flip the front of my hair this morning. The back remains the tangled mess gifted me upon waking.

Fur runs down the sides of my face like some old, dirty seadog, and dwarfs the sad tangle found there on my lip.

The scars of my past: old lines on my face; old ink beneath my skin. How I got to this point I cannot discern.

A dialogue, with the demons of that same past, hold me fast to my chair, keeping me from my destination on the other side of the storm.