Historias de la Gran Patranha

Being an adult ... Means that your body hurts. You behaved for years thinking that your energy would be unextinguishable and suddently every little ailment becomes a pain that stays with you forever. Means that you are too tired to party because you have been working, or have to work. We all know that. Means that you have to worry about money, about washing the dishes, about tidying up your house (as it is yours), about having clean clothes to wear. You consider TV programmes a secondary thing in your life (OK, maybe not Lost), and spending some time outside four walls becomes an unattainable dream at times. You stay hours in front of a computer not for pleasure but for work. You stop writing monthly letters to your friends. You call your parents willingly. You do things you don't like because you have to. I wonder at the amazing energy shown by my parents working all day long, maintaining a clean house, cooking, helping me with homework, taking me out for a walk, even watching telly when I wasn't allowed to, for years. And I am grateful for that, for their time.

... Nevertheless, I do not despair because there are little things in life that show me that I am still a child. My clothes are still strategically scattered around the floor (I only scatter them about the bedroom floor now), my papers and books are still all over the place and the floor (OK, the rest of the floor in the house) is MINE. I still watch cartoons - when nobody is watching. I paint and draw doodles in every piece of paper I find. My face is full of pimples. I cannot stand living with my parents for more than a week. I write letters to my friends and decorate the envelopes as I did when I was small. I think that getting married and having children and a proper job is for grown ups. That and earning shit loads of money. I am still poor. I love comic books. I have a silly selective memory. I love stealing food from other people's plates and always want dessert. I like sticking my finger into attractive puddings such as jelly, gateaux and creme caramels, oh, and sticking my hands in platefuls of peas, chickpeas and beans. I steal people's drinks instead of getting my own drinks. I use interactive whiteboards to draw silhouettes of my friends if they are willing to stand in front of the projector for me. I think that using make up and creams and all that stuff is for grown ups. I pull cute faces. I have a blog, a mongrel of a blog, but a blog is a blog.