Monday, November 22, 2010


I am not a cool father to Andres, Ponso, and Paco lately. I shout and easily gets irritated even from their small whims that does not deserve a big time heart breaking negative reaction. I am sad. I do not know what to do. Even Thelma hate my guts lately, and for the past 10 years, everytime I come home late after some philosophical and political discussions,normally over bottles of beers, or Gin Premium, (where one time with Adrian Donald, I learned the meaning of phenomenology and shit but began to forget after two tall bottles of pure, unadulterated crazy freakout Ginebra gin), without informing her.

Sigh. I am broken. She shouted at me one time for going home the morning and telling me to shape up and telling me that I do stupid things by writing stupid things in my stupid fucked up blog and that it is not the real thing and that it is all for show and that the real thing is what is happening in the fucking house in the fucking real time and that I am immature. I told her: "Then write your own fucking blog!"


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