Some call it love [NaNoWriMo13]

20 - Some call it love

As I said earlier, trouble and I seem to be like best buddies, never to be separated. It was amazing how I always seemed to be the unfortunate soul whom trouble has liked to stick and parasite over, thriving over all the mishaps that have been happening to me lately. If there was one thing I would do, it would be to take trouble and then crush it into a tiny ball and throw it away.

Because that's what it seemed to be doing to me.

Forget what they say about karma, because I don't know what it is that I had done to deserve so many bad things to happen in my life, but I was not liking it one bit. Not a single bit. Maybe because according to my birth certificate, I was born on Friday the thirteenth, or maybe because I had the tendency to hold grudges, but sure karma wouldn't cause that many things to happen to my life, would it?

Karma should have karma done back on it.

Now that was confusing me, so I should stop with the ranting and then carry on with the explaining with what happened on this fateful Saturday.

So, as every other Saturday, Terrence burst into my room and then demanded that I get up. I didn't really want to, because I had slept in late on Friday night (or early Saturday morning, depending on how you saw the time) to finish up the poem, which thankfully to me, seemed like a masterpiece.

And no, I did not give it to my father to read. I certainly wouldn't want him to criticize my work. And neither would I want to start to tear at what a wonderful poet his daughter had become, even if I do say so myself.

Anyway, Terrence burst into my room demanding I woke up that instant and got my lazy bottom off the bed, yada yada yada.

And as usual, I found great difficulty to leave the bed, although the weather seemed to be cooling up rather drastically. But there were some times in the afternoon where it could still have gotten moderately warm, so I wouldn't put it pass me to get a sunburn or something.

Just kidding. It was much too cold to play soccer out. Besides, the sweat formed might start to form icicles around my body, and then I'd be frozen alive.

Jokes.

But the thing was, my reluctance to go out to play was because I had not been improving whatsoever. You would think that doing it on a weekly basis would have helped my improvement in the sport, but no. I still sucked, and that may have had something to do with the fact that I had missed out on my weekly does of exercise last Saturday when I was sick and couldn't play.

Excuses, I know, but I couldn't help it. I actually would have liked to have a lazy Saturday in like the old days (without being sick of course) but because Terrence's trip to England hung in the balance and he really did deserve to go, I put up with it.

Unnecessary of course, because dad would have let him go there anyway, but in case he decided to back out because I wasn't playing, I wouldn't want to risk that.

I loved my brother so much.

By the time Terrence already entered the room, I was already in a loose-fitting tee and shorts, with my shoes laced up. He grinned at me, but I gave him a blunt look. Even all dressed to go and torture myself for the week, my already made bed still beckoned me back to its embrace. "Come, Miranda," it tempted, "you can always make the bed again. Forget about soccer, come to me!"

And trust me, I almost did. If it weren't for Terrence coming into my room and interrupting the private conversation between me and the bed. Good thing too, because it seemed that the bed was winning against my better judgment.

"Come on, don't just stand there! We gotta get moving!"

I sent one last glance towards the bed, which still seemed pretty inviting to me, and then sighed in resignation and followed Terrence again. He had better know about my sacrifices and one day do the same for me. He had better.