So terribly mundane or the rhinestone renegade.

I know that this blog is meant to function as a sort of a virtual diary (no, not dairy) and I suppose it is functioning as such, but I am suddenly very bored with myself. No fabulous epiphanies, not deep thoughts, just me whining about the interstices of my life unraveling. How dull. I realize that after about a month of this, I am going to begin repeating myself, which I hate to do. I have this need to not repeat words and phrases in the exact same order and then, mysteriously, I find a book of poetry that I was writing almost 10 years ago, and my choice of phrasing is almost _exactly_ as it is now. I have not progressed at all! Or maybe I was even better then, fresher, newer, less jaded, not tired of being a "grown up" (not being one 10 years ago).

I am tired of being a grown up. I would like to quit. Now. No, I am not allowed? Being a mother makes it a little hard to shirk responsibilities. Ok, a lot hard, but in some ways it also makes it easier to be in touch with my childishness. When I am not being grumpy. I really miss having a pet, though. They don't talk nearly as much. I know it is all my fault that my Sofía is such a chatter box, genes or osmosis, it was bound to happen, but she is also very funny. And she listens to all the merde I spew, as if it were brown gold... Which reminds me... The other day her box of jewelry was finally retrieved, and she has been draping herself in silver and gold for days now (great-grandmother's spoils from trips around the world). She had a ring that she particularly liked, rhinestone with a big pink rock in the center. Now knowing me, it is obvious what my stance on real "rocks" are. I even hate the way the word comes out of people's mouths- look at the size of that _rock_ - yeah a rock that has several hundreds of lives, spilled blood, behind its very unexciting shine. But, that is exactly the point, if there was really a point, that is... Look at my diamond! she says. No sweets, that's not a diamond. Frown. Yes. No, it's even better than a diamond because there was no African miner exploited, lost in the dank depths of a no man's land, so that some white guy could turn a huge profit selling a perfectly useless piece of compressed carbon. (This is the sinopsis, of course). Ok.

My mother calls, she cheerfully begins her blabber. Hey Bobie, I have my ring and there was no poor African that had to die and no white guy made money. I love my ring... Man, I am such a commie asshole, no wonder people don't like people like me. Still, it is amusing, and somebody needs to speak up for what is right in this world, so let it be the children...

I should go eat now, before dinner gets cold. Yes, I should. I should. I should...