I’m a mother. I’m a daughter. I’m friendly. I am weird. I meet people and never know what to say. I already have wrinkles. I still have acne. I am scared. I have dreams. I want the world. I want a room. I’m an adult. I am a child. I order salad. I eat the end of my daughters’ Cornetto. I read Balzac. I listen to Beyonce.
I’m exhausted. I’m happy. I cry. I laugh. I’m not enjoying this chronicle I’m writing. It feels good to write this. I’m relaxed. I’m stressed. I am everything everywhere at the same time. I haven’t seen that movie. I heard good. I’ve heard it’s a symptom of the film industry’s decline. I heard it’s great. I heard it’s childish.
I’m fed up with social media. I get irritated when the algorithm hides me. I want to be a writer. I want to be in bed. I want you to like me. I don’t care if they like me or not. I want to run on the treadmill. I have knee pain. I’m writing by pressing the keys hard, as if that gesture makes what I write more relevant. I hate trying to be relevant. I already like the white cheeses. I still love the burnt cheese that oozes out of the mixed toast.
I’m basic. I’m complex. I’m revolted. I am conformed. I forget to put on mascara. When I put on mascara, I forget to take it off. I have a shellfish allergy. I eat clams.
I still haven’t found the balance between quoting too much and being pedantic or missing out on quoting and regretting it. I like going to the cinema. I like to watch movies on the computer on a pillow. I don’t have addictions. I can’t live without sugar, coffee and paracetamol. I arrive on time. I’m wrong on the way.
I loved the Secret of Your Eyes. I hated the black swan. I am emancipated. I’m dependent. I like fish in the oven. I’m eating less meat. I still don’t think fish is as good as meat. I am fearless. I crouch to draw blood.
I wrote down difficult words to one day use in a chronicle. Belligerent. Pride. Despicienda. Calculation. Come on. Entelechy. Heuristic. Jerky. I’ll never get a chance to use difficult words naturally if I keep writing about banalities.
I make ice cream. I have weak nails. I sometimes meditate. I sometimes kick the sofa. I’m a feminist. I like sex and the city. I’m skeptical. I’m a Sagittarius. I’m repetitive. I’m original. I share fries with my daughters. I hide the Milka.
I love Louis CK and Woody Allen. I hate worshiping Louis CK and Woody Allen. I like to travel. I like to stay at home. I’m optimistic. I think about the apocalypse before I go to sleep. I’m germophobic. I share popcorn. I go to bookshops. I’m allergic to dust mites. I drive well. I’m a bad driver. I’m not self-centered. I write dozens of sentences starting with “I”.