The teens

Something today wasn't right. I don't know what it was, it's just a vibe I got, and quite frankly as opposed to what usually happens, I couldn't be bothered very much because I was too much in outer space to think about it. But now I am reading my yesterday's entries. Oh God, maybe my mother is a little (just a very little) bit right to say I am a pastaza at times. Perhaps I really should clean up my act. But if I cannot come here and say it as it really is, then where am I going to do it? If I really dislike the Pope, and since a blogger doesn't faint from all the things I've been typing in here, well is there really any harm being done? I know that some conservative people read my blog religiously, and I'm not sure they were very pleased yesterday. But this is the only thing I can do for myself, I don't talk much during daytime because I haven't got the time. And I always have to live up to a kind of image, so if I cannot let my hair down here and be me, then I will be having a lot of bottled-up issues, which will then mean that I need couch therapy, and since that doesn't come cheap and also since I'm not sure it works, then I'll keep doing what I'm doing. I can't help it if there if there is a latent pastaza inside. I was a model daughter, until I hit 14. Then somehow everything changed, I was a total rebel, I started smoking to be cool, I ignored curfews, I dated the bad boys, I also snogged the bad boys, and I think at some point I must have also bonked a few of them. Because I thought I was so grown up and I also thought that my mother was a fidila. A pastaza being raised by a fidila. Oh dear, that sounds very complicated. And it was. I turned my 11pm curfew into an 11am curfew, on the grounds that 11 was 11 anyway. I smoked myself silly, and also tried to hit the bottle. Because cool girls always had alcohol in their hand. I fortunately could never learn to like the alcohol, somehow it made me too sad, so I ditched it for Diet Coke instead. I am not very proud of the things I did in my teens, not because I think they were very wrong, I was just a rebel willing to try all the forbidden fruit. But poor mum and dad, I wasn't easy to handle. Especially when I fell in love, mum thought that a 14 year old should have never fallen in love, and then, with the wrong kind of boy. But it's at 14 when you get riddled by raging hormones, and yes it's at 14 when you can really fall in love. I couldn't help it back then. We never chose who to love, although thankfully I got the bad boy out of my system just in time. I should never point a finger, but unfortunately that's what I'm going to do. I was raised by a fidila who knew nothing about life, and when I suddenly realised that the world out there could be very exciting, I was lured by all the bad things in the world. Sorry mum, but you wrapped me in cotton wool, and that backfired. And so the model daughter turned into a pastaza, and perhaps there still is something of it there inside me. Only, now I just keep it to myself and my blog.