relations and horoscope
Times have changed. The time is ripe. Yes We Can. Yes We Change.
Mh. Not really.
I have the good habit of healthy on Friday morning buying my beautiful copy of Republic and sipping the wonderful stained Ms. Lilly. The act of reading is often disturbed, of course, a little 'because sgom Sara, a little' because between Parliament and a little 'because Emy is always instill a ass and you can not expect much.
But they arrange, that is. Republic is not only a way to silence my guilt over what little it is, now, my reading activities but, above all, is becoming a pleasant collective ritual.
Go into class, you end up browsing the headlines, shooting some vitriolic comments that are certainly, will be collected by someone who is arranging the coats behind your back. Separate newspaper from Friday and pass without even raising his eyes to Teo, in front of you. Then there is the community reading the horoscope, the downcast eyes with Trevi because even on that Friday, the fish says everything and nothing.
"thou hast learned something?"
"No, shit, you?" * Resigned look
/ ironic *
"'It is what sucks"
"Yes"
"And every Friday, however, we read"
"Aha-Aha"
* silence * "But it seems very sti sesseggiamo six days "
" Exactly, is' I'm shit na horoscope "
Then there is the booklet of art, a few comments with Liz and Julia, to what would be nice to go and see this and it would be nice to go see that.
I do not want to continue to talk about this, however, point first because, if unfortunately, some of them read the blog then able to inflate the ego and we lose them down the street: P and why, in fact, I brings melancholy to think that next year certain habits end up in the toilet.
the gist is that I love the Friday morning. A little 'less on Friday afternoon when, having crossed the threshold of the house, the paper ends up in the hands of my Grandmother.
Fair and sprightly little woman that has just rounded the buoy of the eighties, after marry my two older cousins, it seems that its purpose is vital even marry myself. That can not come to his lovely niece, so cute and so alarm is, in terms of romantic relationships, a real sloth.
Yes, at age 19 played his little Valentinetti is devoid of raw material and if you just can not explain, not really, when she attended her husband at that age already (God rest his soul), not really when his grandson, then, had already presented the first guy to the whole family. And then let's talk, she who: "gha you so much sbattola, Belon, the fact you gha occupasion, legis you cuss so much, you gha a beautiful little face, ela bela" .
There is that people (and not just by the name of Grandma) tends to widen the eyes, sapendoti only. You are given that look of sadness mixed sorrow. They call you single , why say "one like a dog" does not sound so very good, ninth. We like single, single slide down the language and knows elusive, elusive. Something that, for logical sense, is cool just because unconquerable. Something perfect, because complete, as it is. Which is
a big dick, 'the story is complete. Like the women's emancipation.
Most women I know who called themselves emancipated just because no companion were then the first bend, when they found one.
No malice or desire to criticize. Only renewed fear on my part. I have an idea of absolute love, something that puts my being, the ever-changing and I hope my life reserves as a function of the other's.
plasmo me to you, because I know that you'll change over the years and years I'll change, but you know what? There I want to change because of you and there that I did not weigh for nothing.
He knows damn important. He knows he is irreversible. And do you know of something that at the time and at least for the next ten years, are not yet prepared to do, honestly.
Yes, the little woman with controcoglioni, what seems to have always the right answer at the right time, that since he was eight years speaks of the greatest institutional systems, what the controversy is par excellence, well, is terrified by the bonds .
not all. Surprise!, I believe to be a disaster in these things. Give me an article to write, give me an essay on the constitution, give me a political debate from engaging in or give me someone to haul big, but not a combinatemi appointment because I realize that I am not .
The last time I went out with a guy I should be definitely missed something (like the fact that it was not real output), given that it all ended with an elegant message that sounded much like a two spades. Indeed. It was, I think. Something like not a good reason to continue to feel or so.
Now, it is not the point. The person in question was exquisitely polite (I say this without irony, I can not even claim to have been used and thrown away, damn it: P) but rather the fact that, after the step of: me-look-the-mirror- e-lo-I-break-Diiiiio-what-I-suck and that of: my instinct is misfiring was followed by the awareness that it was overly sweet ... compared to my standards.
not get me wrong. I do not usually dripping honey, I hope it does not drip even then. Except that, between a smile and the other, probably not identified for what they really are.
And the truth is that I look around and read it in the eyes of those people who are dear to me, that would, for them, the great love. And I wonder: if I am the one who refrettaria true love I could make some noise, they?, They are like?
In love you can not correct, in love can not understand where did you wrong and correct because most of the time who rejects you (and I speak, because even I did) does not give you the real explanation, afraid / to offend your sensibilities. In love, you bring not settle, flirt in rewarding the presence of even one good quality that you recognize as such (ie, in a sense, to settle). In love there is no meritocracy and objectivity, only subjectivity, therefore, really, I wonder how my grandmother can still chase the horoscope of the week and which are listed under reports.
Yes we can, yes we change, yes we're workaohlic women's.
El dehydration that someone you risveierà curiosity-Romantic week is ".
Mh. Not really.
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