viernes 9 de marzo 2018
As the weekend approaches I often forget why I’m alive. Some people binge eat to remember. I loose my appetite and buy books impulsively based on their covers, hoping the titles tell me what to do to stop feeling this way, the way I feel especially when I follow all the rules and do what I’m supposed to. That’s when I really lose it. Today’s hardcover purchase: Art Workshops for Children. I also smoke and stare at plants for way too long, which makes me think I should move to the West Coast. Get my ass out of this island that is growing out of its geographic training wheels. I get it finally: Puerto Rico is wherever a Puerto Rican is. All the eggs are not in one basket. The basket can fall for all I care. Chicks will hatch soon. Then the chicks will become chickens, if they’re lucky, but they won’t be able to coop us up. We will lay our eggs wherever we have to, just not where we’re supposed to.
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