Never shut up, never give up, always endure stoically everything your loathsome parenthood and neglecting smigmatizing of a helper society ever did to yourself, dear monologuer K.B.

 In today's material world, the biggest question is: to use or not to use the items you'll remember only the price for, later?

It's a question of creating new memories with the matter that costs less to produce than it did then, when things were meant to last. It's a question of satisfaction and wisdom. Will those two ever go seamlessly together without a thought?

I'm not a columnist from the Sex and the City, I'm not a writer gurl or gossip "girl".

I'm nobody, nothing. You'll never understand what I write but because it's looking deep within myself, and you may laugh, sympathize, realise your immortality, cry that I'll be end of my lonely bloodline, be glad you've been a friend, undervalue your own part in my story... May you do whatever floats your boat, because adventure is doing things just because nobody invented that path before you.

Reason for my me to live was a fluke, a happy mistake, I was my own person when they cut the umbilical chord. I was either punished or blamed. Lived in fear. Animals were my friends, books were an escape, I planned for so much kids and marriage but barely had one relationship.

Always wondering if... it'd be for me. It's not selfishness, not for self-preservation, meanness, eating everything in sight like an endless well I am cursed to rise up like in The Ring movie.

Simply terrified, but not always, not really. Montage of the glimpsed horror movies most scariest scenes playing in my head from a fifty movies, or a horror bedtime story in a skiing cabin, right after finishing a heavy Pet Semetary book. When it was excactly midnight on the clock right after I finished watching The Exorcist. What did I ever have to fear, if not stories or "God", fatherfigure harsh, and adults in my life I couldn't talk to, get attachted with, with a disgust in sexual matters because I always knew I'd be doing it "too much" if I ever started. I was never wrong. I didn't see sexual tension, I still don't. I don't feel the attraction if it was in front of me... but yeah, it's called asexuality nowadays

Strong and trusting in the communication of what I could get despite the fact my own mother and her sisters bullied me from since a baby to just get by. Do babies eat raw meatballs? What, well in pictures they seem to and I asked my mom about it and she said it was jokingly done. She never understood how the kid is lika sponge and tries to suck in all bit of love they could get... in my case, what's love? Self-love? Bringing myself up? Being a quiet, good, smart, busy obeying, thinking and concentrating, dreamy, chubby ugly fierce fun-loving "You'll be better than me someday" kind of typing and experiencing but making the day my own.

Anyway babes, keep shouting and farting and unloving whatever hell you all are used to doing, giggling or disregarding completely the pile of shit I am. 

Curiosity didn't kill the cat, it just didn't live long enough to fill all the spaces.