Early Signs Of Pregnancy More Condition Symptoms

immobility


Per tutto il giorno ho avuto la sensazione di essere in quello stupido film. Per tutto il giorno ho rincorso a cento all'ora una coincidenza. Ora sono molto stanca e vuota e vorrei solo dormire.
Però il pensiero che la vita possa costruirsi balances of connections, or imbalances of the fate pursues me and chase me again tonight. I've run the coincidence, I caught and landed like a rugby ball on the goal, putting all my effort, all the energy I had in my body, a muscular and physical fury, or perhaps a tear of despair. Then I joined the surge of adrenaline flowing and then, only after I watched it and I tried to tell me that I was good, because it was an occasion difficult if not impossible, and the fate I do not reward, but the ' I did it for myself, I did try to, without thinking about the result even knowing that it will be a loser. It 'difficult to do anything without a return, in some form. I realized. If you want to quibble I might conclude that a reason, if I did, maybe there was. But it was not a gratuity, was not a goal, or it was in name only, apparently. Inside I know that I did to make it, to make it, not to give up. And I would just be so happy.

11/02/2006

it was so many things in my head right now. Not I did not even think about it, not to pass through the range of emotions one after another, not to build on dreams, not to reopen the whole short chapter to 360 degrees. Okay, there are the usual mix of emotions focused my psychic system produces daily, with a precision of genetic engineering. Then there's a new photo of me that I found myself in, like certain photos are marked on the camera and not because as you remember where you made (this metaphor to emphasize, once again, if proof were needed, the millimeter randomness and the immediacy with which certain processes occur). I feel that for the sake of trying, to get involved. I doing something not for the result or for the thing itself, but I do it because it has already added value. I embrace the saying that "The important thing is to participate" and live fully, with awareness of who is no longer a teenager ma è già adulto e quindi sa di dover deporre l'arma dell'onnipotenza nell'armadio dei ricordi. Con la perseveranza di chi ha finalmente attraversato la terra di mezzo ed è arrivato nella realtà.
Io improvvisamente più saggia e più sola e più cosciente della vita e di quello che può dare o togliere.
Non posso dire che questa cosa mi abbia fatto improvvisamente amare me stessa, questo proprio no. Però è successo qualcosa di rilevante nella direzione del vedermi più a fuoco, più definita.

Lovepascal>lovepascal

Sliding doors of old toys

Questo sogno in realtà l'ho fatto qualche tempo fa, però mi ha lasciato una sensazione così epidermica that sometimes I see him again in my mind and I'm still in there. Especially after what happened today. I was in my old house, with my family. Return to live there without moving, without worrying if someone lived there. Just give us a key and we were inside. Already today it was difficult to leave the house. Then, once inside, I realized that that apartment was left uninhabited. But it was in ruins. Some rooms were empty, as just after a move. In others, such as for example in our room, the furniture, but there were still split, stacked and dirty. As if these were not only stayed there 20 years or those who are, but as if the weather had deteriorated them. In the drawers and shelves were still my old toys, in particular my box of Lego, a precious heritage. But it was all mummified. The characters had their faces skeletons and cobwebs, decaying organic material such as the zombies of some imaginary horror. There was also something the whole, most bottles of shampoo or other accessories for the body. Everything else was lying tested by time, but not limited to, something more ... as if he had stayed there, but there was still worn, dried out, just like certain memories, which are still there but not live, are like the shadows of something that is gone, it is pulverized. There are no words for the pain I felt. It was much suffering for a death. I examined my things, scioccata. Erano poi tutte sparpagliate, come dopo un furto, come se avessero messo a soqquadro. Ecco, il paradosso: sembrava che fosse rimasto tutto immobile da quando ce ne eravamo andati, ma invece era tutto cambiato, si era mescolato e sconvolto, si era perso, rotto o spostato. Aprivamo le finestre, facevamo aria ma era tutto inutile. Era impossibile viverci, ma proprio emotivamente. Così impossibile che non ce l'ho più fatta, ho abbandonato la mia casa, il mio passato e quel sogno impossibile.

Narcolepsy More Condition_symptoms Webmd

Explorations on the city: Milan now Dream


E' veramente, veramente complicato come mi sento io dentro Milano. Ieri sera percorrevo via Carlo Botta verso Porta Romana per prendere la metro, direzione Rogoredo. Sabato evening, almost time for dinner. At that time there are 2 New York: one that is getting ready to live the night "out" and getting ready to live the night "inside." Lighted windows are the eyes of the houses are heated by themselves. Lighted streets, local soft lights, metro stations, arcades, railway station are the shelters of those who live the night out. Of those who are open to the ancestral fear of not having a shelter and be devoured alive. Metropolis Milan is much more to me than others, for example in Rome. Why is more erratic, more northern, nearer to the idea of \u200b\u200bcold and dark. There's less harmony, the corners are sharp and separations, the emotions are clear and strong, with no way half. Rome is more conciliatory, more maternal.
So Milan is all that is happening outside, at night, a Saturday evening and a rocking Sunday slumber. Anything can happen out there while you are in transit, passing between two guys who do not belong to you.
Milan is the memory of the impossibility to exist, and nostalgia for transmutation, when you can be all or nothing, at the same time. It 's the heart transgressive and rebellious adolescence, which can not be contained in anything, but is desperately looking for something that contains it. Milan is a girl who cut, vomiting, and escaped.



24/9/06
La stazione è un crocevia dove si scontrano i destini di un sacco di gente, a volte per pochi attimi, a volte per ore, o per sempre. Guardi una persona, le senti pronunciare una frase e da lì ricostruisci, immagini. Un tossico mezzo sfatto che al telefono dice "Pronto, mamma..." e non pensavi nemmeno a quella parola in bocca sua, ha un sapore strano. Un bambino dai tratti peruviani, o colombiani, che ti suggerisce panorami da foresta amazzonica, o vedute andine, vestito all'ultima moda, con i jeans e la crestina ingelatinata.
Persone di mondi diversi che transitano qui, solcano i crocevia immaginari del caotico occidente, trasformano le metropoli in agglomerati faceless where differences are mixed and where all at the same time, there is. Leaving in the mouth the taste of anything.
The metropolis has the power to cancel the distance, to deny the separation but also to divert to the precipice towards moments of immense solitude, while compound split, undo and do coexist. The metropolis is a paradox alive, breathing. Milan is a metropolis that spreads and grows without form. Where everything is so close that they can tap into and then moves away to not see each other anymore.