Hi. Do listen to me rant.
Three weeks ago, I was slumped at
the butt end of our family Sportivo wondering when and where the next pit stop
will present itself. I didn’t sign up for this shit. Thankfully (and oddly
enough) I wasn’t all that cranky on top of all the bickering I have pocketed
from both of my parents the nights prior to the trip.
(The thought that I’ve pawned them
throughout the affair might have been the reason for this—I have hurled onto
them mighty sound arguments that the only thing they could do in the end was
cram a lousy SHUT UP to my face and hiss at me. I’m not in any way mocking them
behind their backs, no. I just find their knee-jerking too amusing. Lol. I
don’t know. Maybe I’ve rattled them with the way I was so composed back then.)
(It was a pretty interesting chain
of verbal brawls, mind you, but I’d rather not discuss it now. Maybe sometime I
would, if I get to scrape up enough agitation to.)
Besides that, there are a shit ton
of other reasons why I disliked the idea of going on a trip to Bicol... and having
to do so in their company.
For one, I have already declared
that I have no intention of joining them. Doing otherwise would really suck as
I have had the need to earn their respect given my previous actions. Lol. And
nej, this ain’t a matter of pride. It’s more on safeguarding my dignity.
Also, the last time I was there I
had nothing to do but warm the couch. I potato-ed. For someone so animated (or
so at least I believe I am), I couldn’t, for the life of me, put up with that
again.
Still, I’m not the man of the house,
and sadly, the whole household had to submit itself to the interest of that who
bears the iron fist.
Or die.
(De joke.)
(But still. I’d assume you’d caught
my drift.)
And so I had to take it like a
bitch.
Butt
All these fretting aside, though, I
still presume that the world is not going to run out of good thingamajigum,
and, being the cheerful shit that I am, I counted on that. So don’t round me
off as a misanthropic fuck yet.
Somehow I managed to find stuff to
take joy in: food, frivolous toddlers, being surrounded by nothing but trees,
silly farm animals, silly dogs, more food, the ocean, traditional chocolate
tablea, bukayo (!), and souvenir hoarding, among others.
Be that as it may, I suppose that feeling
so morally beat, along with being sort of obligated to—surprise, surprise—bum
around, yet again, was too strong a downer for me to get myself high on those
stuff.
