No, I won't grow up. If I did, I would stop enjoying the guilty pleasures I am enjoying now. And guilty pleasures is all I've left. At least (and hopefully only) for today. These are the things I derive pleasure from right now:
1. I don't have to go to work tomorrow (as if I really worked. Ha-ha).
2. I've had two Cokes, one after the other. It's the first I've had Coke I've had since... I can't remember. And it has already sent what was left of my digestive system to hell. And beyond.
3. Although I have tons of work to do, I've been here sitting on my ass and reading Jessica and Krisobi. Those girls rock!! Needless to say, I haven't worked shit.
4. My mother and mother-in-law (fearsome combo) are ditching their culturally-challenged husbands and taking me out to lunch tomorrow. This is the first time my mommy-in-law will ever visit my house, and anyway I'm glad to report the house is running for the Pigsty of the Year Award. And I just couldn't care less.
5. It's eleven o'clock pee em and Belendor hasn't arrived yet. And I couldn't care less. For all I know he is taking Jordi to bed with him right in this minute, and I couldn't care less. And if he is, goodie for him. That means he still has some sexual impulse left.

[That sounds mean even for the bitterest 14-year-old inside of me, but I'm still mad at him. Babe: If you won't do me, I'll stay angry].

As you can see, there's no way my *grownup* personna would stay content with all of the above. So I shall remain being stupidchildish.

Hello, this is the grownup sneaking to write and I am a little worried (about Belendor not being home, not about the rest).

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Leaving the multiple personalities apart, it is kind of impressive how different I am when I write in English from my Spanish writing style. It's not only the style, but the tone, the subjects, are completely different. In Spanish I'm nothing but a glorified William Blake reading, sexually frustrated housewife, but I'm more sarcastic and agressive and lighter (not to mention more infantile) in English. It's kind of freaky.

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I'm kind of bored, also. I have nothing else to write and there's nothing on TV but ER re-runs; and the sad part is that I already watched that exact same episode in the afternoon. Besides, I already packed my books and anyway I had already read every one of them like ten times at least. So I'm bored... and seemingly, I just keep writing nonsense. Let's see:
1. I don't want to talk about sex anymore. Having admitted we have issues (which is supposed to be good), now I feel more pathetic than ever. Besides, I feel like I'm betraying Belendor by writing all this. But it is the truth. And it's upsetting me. So why shouldn't I write about it? Anyway, everything's already said.
2. I don't want to talk about work anymore. It's boring.
3. I don't want to email to anyone anymore. It's stressing.
4. I have to go to the bathroom. There! Perfect excuse to stop writing.

Bye-bye, fly-guy