Revolting Door

I am quitting this blog because I don’t know which ones of my acquaintances are reading and that makes me feel confined in my writing. Good day!

I was just about to write about the mud that’s everywhere here, and the smell of burned charcoal in the air, when the sun finally decided to show us today that it still exists. Complaining postponed for now.

The sun hasn’t come out once since I’ve been back - 4 days. I’m still floating in my personal abyss of jet lag and apathy, with a dash of self-pity.

I’m going to call my hometown Monique. So I’m back in Monique, which is the third largest city of what I’m gonna call EECC.

My Dad has this desease. I hate writing it, I hate saying it and I hate thinking about it so I’m gonna finish this paragraph and probably never talk about it again. Or at least until it sinks in and I stop getting so upset when I think/write/talk about it. Grrr, I’m done talking about it for now. No, I’m not. I’m the daughter of a man who is getting close to being not entirely self-reliant. And I don’t want to get into the melodramatic descriptions I use so often. But I was sad yesterday. Ok, I’m done talking about this now.

Mom is telling me to be careful when crossing roads but she’s the biggest jay walker ever. She seems to be in good health and I hope it remains this way. I’m grateful.

Monique is not that bad. I expected worse.

I feel pretty stressed out about finding a job ASAP. I must’ve been living in some imaginary world where I was the queen and things just came to me. But if I don’t start earning money pronto, I’ll become one of those old ladies who live on $50 a month, talk to themselves and throw their cane at strangers in the grocery store.

I don’t want to write sad stories.