rumba!

I can almost smell the freedom.

Twenty-one hours and counting.

burning room.

Six months and we've gotten no where.

Sometimes I feel like we're making progress but as of late, it's like the gear has been stuck on reverse and we can't seem to find the brakes. Slow down, speed up, it feels all the same to me.

Just remember that I won't allow myself to be your consolation prize. So toss a coin, shake the Magic 8 ball, do whatever that could possibly help you make up your mind. Or just pack up your bags and leave and we'll pretend this didn't happen.

Oh yes, I'm good at pretending.

Emotionally numb. I think that'd be the right terms.

All I need is to get through this next week with minimal bruises.

Edinwhat?

untouched.

Dennis bought me a baby blue polyester blankie.

I is happy.

deeper conversation.

Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress Stress.

hormones flying everywhere.

Sunday afternoons spent (virtually) with the twin unhealthily obsessing over Facebook games, being kiasu and discussing replies you really shouldn't say to a boy.

Exams? What exams?

Oh, and mummy called me last night,

"Are you home yet?"
"Yes."
"So who went for dinner?"
"Nique, Vid, Mandy, Chris and I."
"Oh so girls only?"
"Chris is a boy."
"Oh I see. (Silence) So who's your boyfriend?"
"I don't have a boyfriend, mummy."
"Okay bye."

(hangs up)

I'm starting to believe my family just may be slightly dysfunctional.