This is, as usual, the catch up post where I dump everything within recent history before I erase my mental temporary files and cookies.
Sorry for the analogy... working on IT gets to me sometimes.
I've got some explaining to do, and not the good kind, the kind that I know makes people (you know who you are) call me wondering WTF is wrong with my head and when I'm gonna grow up.
But I'm only gonna be young once, and if I'm alive, I've gotta make a story worth telling; specially since I'm like writing a novel loosely based on facts and circumstances that may or may not have occurred in real life.... I'm gonna be rich and famous and then people are gonna wonder if I'm crazy, boy crazy or just simply in some dire need of fame and fortune. Which I kinda am but whatever.
Notice the rambling? I'm avoiding the subject at hand. I do this more often than you'd think. I'm turning it into an art form of sorts, and it'll be a mysterious and beautiful confusion.
So here we go:
Shit just got real. Like for real life.
My little brother is leaving to Spain by the end of the year.
I'm having a minor nervous break down here... I mean, I've been taking care of him since I was 13. Not just your usual hanging out in front of the tv... I mean, diapers and bottles, building play dough creatures and blanket forts and fixing things, and bathing the dog, and learning how to write and bedtime stories and eating my ice cream secretly before I remember it was there.
I mean, doing home work and sharing secrets, and talking about the girl with the really really blue eyes in his catechism class, and debating on what kind of roller-coasters are best, and fighting over who gets to sleep in the bed with mom, and tickle fights mid afternoon and random nicknames that have nothing to do with anything.
He's my brother, but he might as well be my own kid. I mean, I have to admit, I've learn to understand my parents by dealing with him. I've learn to appreciate the innocence and happiness and carefree approach to life we have when we're not blindsided by our goals and ambitions and what we're going to do for the rest of forever.
So the thought of not having him around is like... impossible.
I mean, who else am I gonna hunker down when I get home? Who's cheeks am I going to kiss when I get home? Where am I supposed to find that cute baby smell when he's not around (and yes, there's this spot on the top of his head, that STILL smells like heavenly baby goodness, even though he's 10 and thinks he's "cool"), who's going to wake me up saying "Jissy, Jissy, tengo hambre"?
I'm sad... and technically, I'm not really supposed to be.
After all, I'm the big one with a life ahead of me and a bunch of places to travel to and a million things to do, right? So why is it that I see him being the fearless adventurer that I saw myself as, and I'm the one feeling like a deer caught in headlights?
Maybe it's genes, I think we all have a bit of that "bring it on" attitude in our blood... but hey, I have to admit...
I didn't think I'd be as sad as I am.
I told him "What am I supposed to do when I come back? (Yeah, I'm the one escorting him to Spain to my dad's house. It makes perfect sense cuz I'll get to spend time with my dad, who I haven't seen in about 3 years, and take a nice little va-cay and well, drop off the kiddo). I told him I'd cry in the airport and he'd have to tell me to go get on the plane... and this kid told me "You'll be alright. You're a big girl and you have stuff to do when you come home". I think there might be a Buddhist monk trapped inside this child. That would really explain alot.
I had the intention of writing about other random things and happenings in life, but I've kinda lost the inspiration to....
I'm not quite looking forward to the new year much right now...
I'll get back to y'all on the rest of the stuff I've been up to.