Out for blood. I wanna go home… again.

Is it possible to kill my nephew when he gets home? (No, he’s not the one I was talking about in my last angry post.)

He doesn’t listen to me — AT ALL. I hate that he puts me in the middle all the time. He betrayed my trust — yet again — and now he gets my ass in trouble. What a stupid fucktard. From now on, no more Miss Nice Auntie. He can be rotting in the middle of the goddamned road and I wouldn’t even spare him a sidelong glance. What an idiot.

I hate this. I hate being surrounded by idiots. It’s scares me that some of that idiocy might rub off on me. Please, God, no.

Times like this just make me wanna go home. To tell you the truth, I’m seriously thinking about it. I’m seriously thinking about going home. Should I or should I not? I should ask my brothers. I’m meeting them some time this week. Kuya Edgar is flying in from Rome, maybe to spend Christmas with us. We’ll see.

I don’t know how much more of this crap I can handle. It’s sapping my soul. I feel like I’m dying, one good piece of me at a time. Nowadays, I feel like I’m existing just to exist. I’ve been living a semi-hermitical lifestyle for almost a year and it hasn’t been great at all. I daresay it’s barely even good. Sure I’ve had some fun times, but most days I simply stare at nothing in particular and I get lost in my thoughts. I’ve mastered the art of daydreaming — on the road, in my bed, or simply in this chair, staring at the computer screen. It’s bad that the only best friends I have here are myself, the dog, and my closet. Sure, I talk to my cousin, but I don’t tell her everything. She only knows about a quarter of my life, possibly even less than that.

Yeah, I think I might be ready to come home now.