Tikes Country Cottage Playhouse

Water 2 Water


Some considerations on the previous post:
1) I just uploaded this morning to line problems
2) The work spaccaschiena led me to fill three buckets of nine liters.
3) But again, it was the washing machine in the middle regime

There must be a solution to this waste ..
kill rhinos more! They drink like the damned bastards!

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Tonight, for the second time I flooded my home.

You know, you nonexistent readers, given my considerable finances and the fact that my house has more than one hundred years, there is the appropriate hydraulic connection in the wall to enter the discharge of the washing machine.

To save money on plumbers, masons and the like, I'm pleased to include the appropriate tube, in the bathtub next to them and subterfuge has worked properly.

This first

Recently I came to improve the schiribizzo visual conditions at home to something better than a monk's cell or a mansion

Spartan ...

Ha! insidious vanity!

.. and therefore I find myself increasingly doing strange things, such as use as the storage room to guest room, thinking of repainting the living room and listen, listen, look for light bulbs in the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling peaceful.

If you're not careful, we will report on a magazine of home furnishings ..

view of my new way, I decided to hide the pipe behind the washing machine that, when not in use, for purely aesthetic reasons ..

Which host would not want to see a nice exhaust pipe into the tank in which to wash?

.. but this involves having to remember to readjust when needed.

And here I return to the starting line of this comment.

I had just finished watching "Lions for Lambs" (a film I recommend at least some issues raised) and peaceful, I started in the kitchen (which adjoins the bathroom) only to find half-flooded with the bath

That beat because he is completely flooded

While I was busy cleaning the mess with a bucket and rag ..

I should note for the second time "

.., consuming and tiring, I have had in mind several things

First, that the housewives of the past deserve a monument

Secondly, that you were arranging lasting damage to his back and legs

.. Third: I do not I never stopped to consider the enormous amount of water used for washing.

I was doing a washing machine in power save mode, half full, but posing casually looked on a pack of nine liters of drinking water that was in my kitchen, I it became clear that not would never be enough to cause quell'allagamento.

Probably no two packs.

Now I do not want to read the manual for your washing machine to control the exact consumption, but they are nothing short of I am amazed to see that (I do a washing machine a week on average) use more water than they would in a week, two adult men.

Or maybe an elephant in an afternoon ..

I admit, I am quite baffled. There must be a better solution to such a waste!

kill more elephants, of course!

course it is possible that the water that comes in plumbing for a washing machine itself is not drinking water and once escaped from my house, within an elaborate process of purification that will make it usable by future generations.

But the event attracted the curiosity in me and I just wanted to write my immediate impressions, as a starting point for future inspections.

And even for half an hour to escape the chore breaks back ..

Yes also for

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This is my first post on LJ (excluding fiction) * _ * panic blank page ... well, I take this opportunity now to put under the cc signature I made for dylan_mx (which alone will be passing through here Y__Y).
That said I'm leaving, good afternoon XD that unnecessary intervention.





This work is published under a Creative Commons License

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[original] The Heat of the rain

Title: The warmth of the rain.
Fandom: Original .
Characters: not have a name >__>
because when I read the prompt, I was inspired ^ __ ^ and

dylan_mx
for reading it and giving me advice (which I did not follow but nothing XD joke).
The warmth of the rain "It was a dark and stormy night" writing as if I were to tell this autumn night ... It is now past the time of the typical summer storms, so even the lightning break the darkness of the sky. 's three and something in the morning, I woke up in pain and troubled by nightmares do not remember, my mouth was mixed and a thirst that grew crazy every time concentrating on listening to rain on the roof, so I decided to stop trying to sleep and came into the kitchen. light of this room is so cold at night, seems too strong ... twinges of pain from bruises that start casually continue to bump into the furniture. The rain shows no signs of quitting, is one of those rains that continued until dawn in the morning and makes gloomy but sweet at the same time, one of those mornings that you appreciate if you can stay in bed embracing the person you love but which is devoid if you have to get up for work. I am part
the first category, if I go back to sleep tomorrow will be a peaceful slumber, curled up in a duvet and hugged him .. if I can sleep again ignoring the pain. People are strange, spends his life complaining about the woes caused by the rain but at the same time he needs, and that water from the land that is torn by that water is fed, they could not do less. I can not resist, I open the window over the sink and leaned a bit ', took a deep breath of moist air that night and I am staring at the dark companion. The warmth of the quilt is really nice, I slip under the blanket and hold her arms around his waist, breathe regularly and his back is so hot under the pajamas of cotton. The last thought that comes to mind before they sink into my consciousness in sleep is that the man I love and who now sleeps next to me is like the rain, for me devastated and hurt I could never live without the certainty to wake up looking at his face.

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Genesis


I have always been opposed to write diaries or give my thoughts as food to the network
I'm writing a diary and I'm giving my thoughts as food to the network
I will shortly have three blogs, a personal website, I joined seven community and spend hours reading the vissicitudini of people who spend most of their lives to the PC.

sad for the readers certainly
Why do I do?
to put my thoughts in order ..
because
to exorcise the demons that live there obviously.
I tend to analyze the information I received from my personal experiences (cold, logical, rational and healthy) and I (irreverent, tedious, infantile, idiot) ..
Thanks, but it is clear that you are a part (even if an idiot is my favorite derogatory! Since I saw Passion and I doubled up with laughter, and I said "That's an insult with a history! ") .
.. and through this comparison, I reach certain conclusions, some of which in my view useful and positive.
but I realized that I have issues analyzed and stored before, often, again, with new perspectives and time (as the mind, that archive is imperfect) I am blown away, without being able to export the logical process that had brought me to my conclusion.
Maybe because it was the logical process of his buggy ..
I can not do anything if the means at my disposal to assess the outside world are inadequate and imperfect.
're giving me the inadequate?? feel beautiful mom ..
In any case, my final goal is to transcribe these my processes as they occur and thus have a tool at my disposal to recover them at my leisure.
you let me a note? Please

If, like many, you not keep this diary, begun on the impulse of the moment, what our friends think readers?
That you are devoid of logical processes?
First, I have no readers, and do not try.
Second, I never cared what others think
Third, take off that grin off the face
If you do not care about what others think, I can mention your name and maybe your home address?
For now the debate is over
Good Answer

Does Andy Sixx Have A Dog

Each entities associated with the law of retaliation an opposite.

the white black.
warm the cold.
In light of the sun, the darkness of the night.
acres perfume smells sweet.
the man perpetually dissatisfied with a pain in the ass .
the woman an indolent nature.

a busy road a garden, as vast as uneducated and yet ordered, in its being inhabited by dozens of dissimilar plants.

The child had always thought that if there was hell, well, inevitably there was also a paradise.

saw it. In that garden.
It did not bother to shake hands with his mother, not really, of his hands so dirty and full of already Calloni only three years old, to lash out at the door.

lashed. It did not matter if you do not know. That

beyond. The one where a look at that puppy looked festive and where, by golly, had also a small-so small basket from seeming to be put there for him.

What perhaps because it seemed to have the kind face and was similar to him all dirty-ground, his face red as only those who work long hours exposed to the sun-could perhaps explain what it meant, then, what the heck that his mom kept saying after almost choked. Mrs.

-time high, it seemed, when in fact it was moderately low-listen, his mother.

Listen to his mother to ask for charity, some food for him and if, just if , even for her. It is so hot. Mom says it goes by quickly, but he prefers it that way, rather than sleeping in the cold.

Sidewalks are warm at night. Release the heat of the day, even if it rains.

It is strange, the lady in the garden, not only because it rushes into the house to stock up on food to give it to them but listen to his mother. The careful, seems to respect, the grimace which mum when she asks for help. The

listen even say that it went to the priest of the nearby church-the church is a mother, her name just like that-that's expulsion, arguing that it can not help you, he did not give a roof over your head all.
Or, went to the social services, have been told that Italian is not so, in fact, there is nothing for her.

And he just does not understand this thing, why do not you think that being Italian's so beautiful. Or that it seems easy to be, because it is something that deserves to be. There birth.

And you can not decide where to be born.

And he rails, baby. Against a can of peas , three years, without knowing that they will suck, cold. Scale is because my mother said it was good food and will definitely like the juice, so fresh, the lady gave him, among the good things.

Then mom says. Again. Who does not want to be there, which has the proven. But the sister has just been made, in Poland, and need money. So they left.
They tried, in fact. But she is too frail to make the carer.

Not looking good, too thin, too aftto and who does not eat and is not afraid to dirty that helps.

Fa hello, my mother now. The lady. Thanking you. And taking away the child, close in hand with her.



The lady was the of my mom. The garden was my garden (which, to tell the truth, no longer wild and is becoming a jewel, day after day). And peas move an unhappy idea, essentially, on the security that they go bad in hot weather, unlike the flesh.

do not know why I wrote it. Some things hurt even see, let alone share it with others. But it happened. No fairy tale.

no invention here.

And I do not really explain it. The reason I say. I think it's peas.

Yeah, the peas. And James. That makes it difficult to finish his milk in the morning and that when the reprimand ranting about world hunger I fuck a "Do not break, if people are hungry not my fault" .

But what escapes here, at most, is that when problems are so great, even on who is to blame or not becomes irrelevant. That the only culprit, capable of being pointed out, it must be acknowledged in a government that denies that humanity, by returning to the boat with the poor souls, in all probability, will be gunned down just shall put foot on land again. Or maybe in a church (which, incidentally, is Mary the Mother Church, this', just that in Ronchi, via Redipuglia) spending, gossip fresh on Sunday morning, the collection offers the purchase of new benches for the faithful.

This is compared. Immedisimazione. Strive for once, not to offset the eye. To support the powder dry eyes and mucus of a three year old child whose only crime is to be born at the time and wrong place.

And so again. Of immigration bill and everything else.


PS: The job market is too flexible to take just anyone knocking on our doors. I'm fine.
emphasize, however, is not the right way to solve the problem.
To do this, simply cut funds of dictators, a true vacuum of our speakers a-Qaddafi, for one thing.

Or, better yet, put an end to speculation on raw materials in African countries (look at Espresso Article May or thereabouts, on bond France / Niger I think it was on the nuclear / oil). Do not call customers but ask those who go to hoes (I will forgive the vulgarity, but when it takes we want) because what is (and it does not matter if a high board or distributed on the streets) and mothers do not return in search of easy money for sick children in their countries.

Ah. Do not impose penalties for illegal work.
directly seize the good. Because if you do not issue invoices nor pay the contributions for an employee are not a wise guy but a fool substantially. What if he dies under the knife because the doctors do not have the gauze because lack of state money, is also too little