My Little Life.

I rant too much. Then I write it in the most confusing way possible. So I should write simply and happily and tell you a little about what goes on in my life.

I go to work and it is fun. The people are really strange. They all have their quirks. The work is nice and confusing. I read a lot, write too little and attempt to comprehend marketing diagrams with all its inane triangles, circles and figure eights. If you have ever seen a VALS diagram, all modern society fits neatly into 8 diamonds. I think it’s funny. I live simply: eat, watch tv, shower and then sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat!

On weekends, various family members come to kidnap me for sleepovers, birthdays, weddings and picnics. It almost always requires a 4 hour road trip to somewhere. I kinda like it. Away from the city, you’d see horizons of greens from paddyfields, sugar canes and goodness knows what else. On a clear day, you can see the sky sparkling on the ground peeking out in between the newly planted shoots of paddy. Sunsets on the highway are soft candyfloss-coloured swirls. The sun directly behind a tower of clouds would paint this beautiful shimmering outline like an eloquent argument in the ethereal.

When you put together a dozen grandmothers and grandfathers, they make a lovely noise. I have a theory that when you get older, people develop some sort of sophisticated calibration system that can determine if your grandchildren went up or down a dress size simply by hugging them. The minions, a. k. a. cousins, are sprouting out of aunts at a rate of two a year, growing up too fast and becoming way too smart. I haven’t been here long enough to establish my regency as head chief of minions. That ought to be fixed.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m doing okay. They’ve been talking about bigger things for me, things that may require the sacrifice of several forestfulls of trees and months of wringing my hands my insane ideas into words. The Almighty in the highest floor of this building has given an unofficial nod too. Kinda frightening. If I leave, I’d have to let it go. Who knows what will be printed in its place? And if I stay, well I don’t know if I’m ready to accept the consequences. I’m still wavering.

When my plane takes off, goodness knows how many days from now, I’m not sure if I’m coming home or leaving one behind. What should I do?