The last two weeks

Now, where do I start?

So I've been binge reading a certain "type" of novels. My acne is taking a break (finally). Been having existential crisis. Our dog gave us puppies and finally, I went to beaches.

Anyway, I wrote this first on a notebook, in the presence of my parents. In there, I wrote that because my parents are in close proximity, I am writing in chicken scratch on purpose - not that my normal handwriting isn't that way anyway. So, parents=imminent reticence.

About the novels. I can't elaborate more without divulging what I can't absolutely divulge - which is pretty sad considering this is supposedly the safest place I can say something and not get judged. But that's how it is.

About the novels.  It seems I can't stop. Not in the foreseeable future, that is, since reading them has been giving me a warm feeling I wouldn't get reading something else. I feel I'm entitled to it even for a while. It's been crazy though. The toilet was always the one place I would never bring my phone in but even that is getting threatened by this obsessive kind of reading. Seriously, I'm aware I gotta chill.

I have been reading lots of other novels too before this recent obsession. In fact, I finally read all of the Wardstone Chronicles books. The series I started reading six years ago but never quite got to finishing. They are actually my favorites that I've read this year. No, in a while. And not the novels I first mentioned. They're just ways to make me feel something.

Anyway, I've been just thinking that my life may be boring for others not living it. Not having a boyfriend, hating alcohol and the fact that I absolutely do not plan on having children isn't helping. If those things are the the only things worth living in this life, then I'm spectacularly failing. But no. I don't believe that. I think sometimes of what other people think, the life they tell me to live and all that. I think maybe people get to a point in their lives when they just feel this need to stop to analyze their lives. I'm that people now. With all around me giving me clues as to how I'm living my life wrong, it's impossible not to take a step back and really analyze. But truthfully, some issues aside, the life they tell me to live just doesn't appeal to me. Maybe I look pathetic on the outside? Regardless, I don't think I'm falling short on life. Actually, I've pretty much done everything that I wanted in the last few years, including things I grew up swearing I would do. Without hesitation. Without thinking much about choosing them actually. I just feel certain that's how life should be. Life is short and tomorrow isn't promised and I am pretty sure I'm not failing it. And yes, I'm perfectly aware how defensive that sounds. Lol.

I feel great today, for some reason, if my writing isn't enough to indicate that. In the notebook, I wrote that this pen is my mother's and this notebook is not mine - don't know whose - so I really had to make an effort locating both to write. That is something that speaks volume if you know how lazy I am. Now that I think about it I feel even more amazing. Even more amazing than a few seconds ago when I started this paragraph. That may sound like this feeling is as rare as my writing since I just made a point of how indicative my writing is to my feeling but no. It seems it takes two things. The feeling and the impossible task to get me out of my lazy state.

On another note, our Lala gave birth two weeks ago to 5 pups. So now we have 6 babies. Or 7 counting one other pup my brother has yet again brought home from some place. They are having two from the litter on sale. It's for the best. We can't possibly care for that many, especially in the long run. Lala having babies means my parents can't have her at home because they're almost always not home anyway. My sister in law is taking care of them. My brother moved out with his wife and 4 boys awhile back. They are not that far from home though so I might bring home Lala with her pups later today. My parents, especially my father sorely miss Lala. 

In a way, I'm hanging out with my parents. These days, probably maybe always, that means my mother is asleep in a wooden sofa and my father is watching some sports on TV while lying on a foam on the floor. I can't help but wonder how much I love this, having them around just like this.

On yet another note, did I tell you that I never wear shorts? Well, you only have to see my legs to understand. But two weeks ago, I reluctantly agreed to join a trip with my sister, her boyfriend, their child and their college friends to Surigao del Sur. The place is packed with beaches, river, you name it. Meaning wearing jeans on this trip is obviously not a choice. So for two days straight, I wore shorts around like I did not live my whole life before that not wearing them at all outside the house. With the exception of basketball shorts in my childhood. Well those just do not count. Now that I'm back to wearing shorts only at home and never outside, I can't quite wrap my head around the fact that I wore shorts at all. But the trip wasn't about me wearing shorts, was it? It was having a great time and your girl was absolutely at her happiest around a body of water it seems. Gotta do that more often. I already miss the carefree feeling. I didn't keep from frying in the sun though and some effects still show on my skin. I'm stupid.

So there. I shared the last two weeks of my life, which is also the extent of my ever declining memory. 

I'll be 27 next month. 

B.