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3.00 pm Busan
First, I think my madness is a substitute for the tears I'm holding back.
Second, Christmas Eve tastes just like spurn.
No, I did not mispronounce that, there is no missing 'M'. I mean exactly what I said; Spurn. As in despise, disdain, dismiss (that's a good one), disregard, refuse, reject, repudiate, snub - ignore.
Ignore!
I.G.N.O.R.E.
Ignore.
And if not that then acting; pretending, faking, impostor-ing...that sounds stupid, but it's precise, exact, the sheer reflection of what Christmas Eve looks like. And if it tastes like spurn, looks like impostor-ing then it smells like false smiles and averting eyes.
Altogether, it's been a load of sensory bullshit. Or just bullshit. Either work, whatever. The whole act seeps fraudulence. Or as Jisoo would put it; shade. We were, and I'm not too proud to admit it, I know, I am very much aware of our current behavior/situation, it is...indeed, "shady".
Christma – okay wait. I wasn't going to mention Rosé's version/ fraudulent synonym, replacement, equivalent but seeing as this (my life! Haha...ah) is already a joke - why not.
*Cue mad scientist (me, Jennie) laughing to the sound of lightning. Ha.Ha.Ha - and then cue drum roll. Please.
It is; the awfully Dr. Zeus like compound, a stop at f'fun alliteration station, the one (of many weird phrases Rosie Posie likes to flaunt) the only, the Robin Goodfellow of words, *intensify drum rolling – *a little more – *a little more – the unusual but not to be dismissed! A MISS PARK SPECIAL -
Flim flam!
Flim Fl...am...yeah.
That was underwhelming, wasn't it? And yes it is a real word.
She would call this, what's happening awkwardly obvious between Lisa and me, a big bogus lot of flim flam.
If she wasn't too nice to say it.
Anyway - Christmas Eve made me want to vomit and for once not by choice. In fact, I sort already did, in my mouth a little earlier when my dad made a joke about grandchildren. And sure maybe I would've gagged still even if we were okay but, I wouldn't have felt so sick. Not like that. Not to the point in which my cheeks pop like an aggressive blowfish. Puff up just to get sucked, slapped back tight between my teeth. Followed by the way, by the most uncomfortable, oddly lumpy, somewhat scratchy swallow. All because something I ate last night wanted to escape the cataclysmic end of the world happening inside my wee belly.
