There’s a chance that I’m falling in love with Hyuna.

Truth is, I haven’t much to say. I haven’t in a while, actually. I wrote a story titled “Paper Guns;” a skeleton, really. I meant it as a performance piece, a prose poem that I plotted to read off the top of my head during one of the readings (July’s if we have one). Or, if Amado decided on giving me a feature slot, that night. Truth is, I don’t want him to give me one this year. I want to have more than just “the best of” to read.

I resurrected another tale about a family and its business, and started working on the introductions to the main characters – the title brothers. Aside from that, I’m reading up on physics and the theories and the philosophies of time for Holding Hands with Eloise, which has veered from its original premise, though it’s still a romantic comedy on paper.

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Exhibit A: Pippin photo bombs a picture of a rather defeated and tired me.

In other news, I miss my hair. Despite that it’s hotter than a monkey’s asshole outside, my long hair became a staple of my identity. And now it’s gone, and will probably stay gone for a good long time because, well, I grew tired of having to tame it for work. At least I still have my hat, though I never wear it at the readings anymore for reasons I’m still don’t understand.

I really wish I had more to say. And I guess what’s bothering me these days is, what’s wrong with teenagers these days? Was my generation as reckless as the current one? For that matter, what’s up with kids not sleeping in anymore? Kids waltz right into the library just minutes after opening and it really irks me. It’s summer, guys! Summer.

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