Damask Clip Art Microsoft

When I plug from the enthusiasm (and this is usually done for absolutely stupid things), I can not keep anything. I need to "vent".

And then get this nonsense that, besides making me laugh a lot, met for a few seconds my megalomania latent exhibitionist-narcististico that vein usually unspoken or kept at bay (in a matter of fact, I suspect there)! ;)

way down ... click VI! (said to Viareggio)

Text Season Greetings

Please. Spare me those useless sms impersonal greeting cards, signed and sent in a series of happy family mill white. If you do not even know your wife (or husband) - (or maybe they know each other and we do not take) - or, above all, your adorable little children, and unaware, it is even irritating receive benevolent fictional utterances by them. Do you want to understand it or not?

When one gets married and raise a family giving up one's individuality? Become one with spouse and offspring, and ceases to exist as a distinct entity?

Mah ..

Congratulations Baby Joke

I struggled just to wake up this morning. The brain was tired and did not respond to the commands of my conscience that I called on it to get up. When I open my eyes with this feeling of total clouding, it is usually because my dream activity was particularly intense at night. What makes me angry, however, is that almost never remember my dreams. Thus precluding the ability to analyze and discover more of myself. I get up in the knowledge that he had done nothing but dream, and yet nothing seems to have been abducted to those experiences. If you do an immense fatigue, in fact. Instead, this morning, has resurfaced in all its thick palpable anxiety experienced while waiting for the execution of my mother. Why she was before the gallows, do not know. In the dream, however, did not seem at all strange. I took for granted. I was desperate, of course. But not disbelief. Neither did she. Not even an attempt to spare the tragic epilogue. Only resignation and hugs and kisses and tears and expressions of great love for each other. And that expectation that he had never end. The whole dream is configured as waiting for death as separation. This served as a tragic incentive to confess things that we never gave up until now. I do not remember the time of execution. Perhaps because the dream never came. The few dreams that I happen to hold, in effect, have mostly to do with traumatic separations from people I love. Nothing strange in this. And in this case is not the first time my mother died a violent death in my nightmares. I remember one that still goes back to my early childhood, which was mysteriously cut off his head, but she, incredibly, was not dead yet and still talk to me, even trying to tranquillizarmi. But, because tonight my own mother in front of the Executioner? Too disturbing. Then, suddenly, came to my mind the last few pages last night I was ferried from waking in the arms of Morpheus. And this awareness has taken a good deal of mystery to my dream. I read Jeanne Becu, better known as Madame du Barry. The favorite of Louis XV, who replaced the heart and bed of the sovereign frigid Reinette de Pompadour (disappointment, eh? When you think of Madame de Pompadour - will also be due to the vaguely onomatopoeic name, so to speak - it materializes' s idea of \u200b\u200blust and made woman, however, was not very passionate woman, and health poor, and the relationship that joined the king was more cerebral than sensual and emotional nature). Jeanne, on the contrary, he was really passionate. And better than any other embodied the concept of "lovers." Condition of a bitch got his king's official maximum privileges to which a favorite could aspire. He had the misfortune to get just the wrong time, on the eve of the Revolution. And we put on his head. I remember I was asleep just as intent to consider the various ways in which human beings face the gallows. I wondered how I would react. With the regal poise of Marie Antoinette that did not change and, almost haughty, held out her pretty white neck to cool the blade (as I hope)? Or succumb to an unseemly manner full of sound and fury and futile attempts to escape as the du Barry, very pathetic, went so far as to implore the Lord Executioner - the famous Samson - not to hurt her? "Grace, grace, Monsieur le Bourreau."

(my mother, of course, faced the test of a true queen. With great dignity, regardless of the Executioner and death itself. The pain was only in the awareness of having to lay off forever by those who love, so it is only leave in which focused, targeting the objectives do not leave anything unsaid or unspoken).

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pinocchio forever

Let my relationship with the TV is far from idyllic, I think I've already said. She and I "divorced" many years ago. Sporadic flashbacks, you experience those times when I realize that the schedule propina an interesting movie that I missed at the cinema (an extremely rare occurrence. By the way, I still have not figured out why "Pretty Woman" have sent at least 150 times decade, while the truly remarkable film of recent production are not taken into account or, if they are, it always happens after midnight) but, more often, I find that I hold in archaeological finds worthy of being seen and reviewed a hundred times.
little while ago, for example, I lit up and I felt great for travel from a frisson of excitement to learn that at 21.10 on Rai 3 back on Pinocchio Comencini. Well, yes. If I try to reason from "adult" and give a critical assessment of the film, I realize I am not in a position to do so. That is ... for me it's beautiful, of course. But I do not know how far I am affected by the recall, more than ever, the emotions that the "Pinocchio" I raised a child (and, consequently, the next dozen or so times I saw him). The only television transposition of Collodi's masterpiece (the most beautiful tale of the world) worthy of existence, that is. Everything else is profane. Not surprisingly, a few weeks ago, to learn that he was about to be sent a brand new version, of which I remember only the presence of Luciana Littizzetto as a Jiminy Cricket, I'm pissed off like a beast and I had some sort of effort. Of course I did not want to see it. Andrea Balestri Pinocchio (but that will end it?), Geppetto, Nino Manfredi, Gina Lollobrigida is the Blue Fairy, the Cat and the Fox are Franco Franchi and Ciccio Ingrassia. POINT. And the music of
Pinocchio Comencini?
I'm the only person in the world that is crying with emotion when you feel?

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No subliminal message.

I like it. I am thrilled. I am moved. And 'one of my favorites ever. Today they went on the radio while I was in the car. It was a long time since I felt it in its original form (Luca Carboni has been reinterpreted in a cover). And I thought "of course it's always nice ..." . Not by chance, eleven years I was a big fan of Lucio Dalla (mica Miguel Bosé as my peers). The first concert I attended, it was his. In the tent Bussoladomani in Lido di Camaiore. The year was 1981. And I've eaten whole cassette recording my voice while singing with great commitment and conviction, "The Last Moon" "How deep is the sea", "Anna and Mark," "Evening of Miracles", "Futura", "Dance dancing dancer", "Mambo," "Dear," "Call me in twenty years", "L 'years to come "... and of course " What Joy. "

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E 'little more than an adolescent, and holding the hand of her granddaughter. With her are about to cross the road on the pedestrian crossing at the time of the small playground. She is wearing a nice skirt. At the time there was a physical filiform but you can not really define robust. Yet the shock of the unexpected arrives through a window that pops up suddenly from a speeding car. Just in time to see a bunch of guys and girls that clutter a family car. And it's a girl sitting in the back seat to scream dileggiante

maaanzooooo but nice!!

I've always said I, that women are bitches .

Microsoft Clip Art Damask

Statistically I have found that Monday is the day of the week are more subject to fits of devastating sadness. Maybe that's why this morning I believe it is Monday. And, right in time to dinner time I remember that on RAI 3 is the evening of "Chi l'ha visto?" (a "normal" stuff, I do not normally follow). Now, it might reasonably think that if only the prospect of seeing a program like this (a condensed anxiety) psychological conditions in already compromised, make me shudder. Instead, no. At the thought of "Chi l'ha visto?" , I feel an instant sense of comfort. Not only that. The notes of the opening theme (which in reality is also that of closing), so disturbing in itself, had an effect on my psyche and therapeutic REASSURING . We fly over the disappointment I suffered when I realized a few moments ago, that today is Tuesday. I'm just curious phenomenon.

may be the same mechanism that causes us to listen to sad songs when you feel sad, or see a drama, or enjoy a rainy day because it combines the best our gloomy mood. The pleasure of basking in his own sadness, Surrendering to all and for all. The desire to touch the bottom (and then re-emerge), the cathartic end, etc.. etc.. Thus, a widespread phenomenon and banal.

As it happens, however, that "Who has seen ?" transmission is not a "sad" but, as already mentioned, distressing . And I do not understand how I can find reassurance in anguish.

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attentions annoying little

Despite the pouring rain,
comes armed with good intentions and a spirit of initiative.
His good humor and energetic attitude, collaborative
well as contrast with the dreary day,
feed my nervousness.
Fortunately, it is not always the case.
fact. I love her with my whole being.
Certainly not just because she's my sister.
love you as a person, because it is special. And she finds comfort.
addition, the last component is "healthy", with me, a family devastated.
The one on which I can count.
The time when I was about to lose it forever, not long ago,
was the darkest of all. It still bears the marks.
But today, we just do not.
Unaware that his support from outside is more useful to her than to me, it gives
too much to do.
matter of conscience, you might say.
naively thought that maybe being an afternoon and loading a washing machine, or
taking away some clothing to be ironed,
can significantly affect my quality of life.
It is annoying, then when he looks at me and asked me impatiently
"What is it?".
I should know because it shows a lot of impatience when it seems to capture a veil of melancholy resignation or sadness on my face.
view it as a suppressed cry of anger and pain. As if the
scream "Look at me as well. Do you realize, right? What a life of shit I do?
you, if nothing else, you've got your house, your children, your mate! Do you feel right?".
In fact, not cry at all. Nor do I think, certain things. Or rather, only take note.
And without a hint of resentment.
I think that she complains to herself.
I should be always smiling and carefree, not to have them weighed.
However, today it gives me anxiety.
the echo of his footsteps in the hall and at the click of a door that closes,
breathed a sigh of relief.
I can give to fatigue in peace.

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psychopathological picture

Example improvement (related to: hints of emancipation from the desires of others, awareness of what they really want. In essence, this is what others want and expect from me ... but I ?)

(the Hairdresser)
persuasive voice of shampista "Because you'll wait a little while ... you do a mask restructuring, ok?"
"No, thanks. I just styling. If I have to wait ten minutes, flip through a magazine. If you make me wait any longer, unfortunately I have to go."

Example stationary (relating to: the cyclical riprensentarsi apathetic and passive attitude):

came into my room, trying to get to the computer, inevitably stumble into semidisfatta stupid suitcase lying in the middle the floor on Monday. Mentally cursing and think "did not absolutely no way that this case continues to be here. "In fact, I leave it there.

Example regression (related to: crippling sense of insecurity. In this specific case, issue of insecurity triggered by involuntary and stubborn attempts therefore not easily controlled, into the heads of others. But is it really the insecurity that determines the need to read the texts of others, or it is the ingrained habit, and an innate ability to do that in the rare cases where missed the mark, I generates insecurity? In the example, in addition to the regression in terms of insecurity, there is also a symptom of stationarity for As regards the ability to lie not yet acquired).

"Please tell me the truth, please. By chance, have you ever poked around in my black book black?"

(Just a moment of awkward silence and guilty)

"Yes, in fact I puff ... but not for the reasons you think."

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broken dreams

The fate cruel mocking of any sensitive soul, is to clash constantly, and inesorablimente, with a little poetic reality that contrasts with depressing dreams and expectations of moral elevation, sentimental, spiritual, emotional. Some clashes

traumatic they still suffer, though he soon began experimenting during my troubled existence from hypersensitive and I should have made us the callus.

Some anecdotes are hilarious and can make me laugh after decades. However, at the time, had lived as an authentic source of frustration and bitter disappointment.

Today I was reminded one that concerns the area of \u200b\u200blove.

Who does not remember the first child falling in love or infatuation?

Well, my first "love" was ten years old and his name was Gino. Unusual name for a tot. But Gino was a "Montagnino" (as the Versilia sea, call the high-Versilia) and a name like that reflects the very ancient tradition, still in use in mountain communities in my part, to baptize the children with the names of grandparents and great-grandparents. A call costs Amilcare, Alfonso or Ermenegildo. Gino met him during a week of "license" from my school work of students in fourth grade (I was nine years old), generously given to me by my father who, over the top in many areas, even in front of the school had all his theories, type (addressed to my mother) "look at that water coming down. let the child sleep, poor ! where you want to send with this time?"

that week thought it well to make me breathe some fresh air because he had to go to based on, the mountain village City of Seravezza, where he played the renovation of a house. So he decided to take me with him. Gino on the first day I met him. Hair and eye blacks, face sbruffoncello, ways to urchin. I "won" right now, partly because, in spite of the rebellious nature that made him a little intriguing to me showed a special interest and attention from boyfriend.

My father seemed very amused and involved the evolution of this new friendship, and encouragement. With the advance of the morning, keeping an eye on the clock and around one suggested I "go a bit down the road, you'll see that we have.'s Gino for arriving with the van!"

I remember the thrill and excitement that animates me when I could see the yellow school bus in the street below. Prelude coveted of all our meeting and daring games such as throwing at full speed down the slopes with a kind of sled or scooter (can not remember). This arrangement lasted for several days and went into growing, so much to make me believe in some kind of symbiosis or elective affinity of souls. Until the tragedy of the unexpected or disappointing ending, if you prefer. Maybe it was Sunday, because I do not think that day Gino had gone to school. The brutal demolition of my dreams of love took place in two acts. The first act I saw appalled spectator of completion On the part of my "Romeo" of physiological functions that are normally experienced with modesty and privacy. So, in other words, he put in a closet outside the house, which was clearly the cabinet, and held the door open throughout the course of these bodily functions, worsening the situation with the repeated interlayer "Guess what I do?". Obviously, I was very clear what he was doing, but with my usual stubbornness in wanting to remove unwanted reality, looking away from the horrible scene, I had the courage to answer several times with a little credible "I do not know" . That was the beginning of the end. A situation that is already severely compromised, the former object of my romantic longings, inflicted a fatal blow to a promising romance so much, when, finally released by the cabinet, dared to externalize what they now had to be his greatest and most intimate desires, cloaked imperceptibly with a veil of "decency" in making the sentence without the sound, trying to make me pick up the sores. At first, I thought I had misunderstood. Could not have uttered those very words! I invited him, then, to repeat, praying anxiously to be refuted in my previous intuition. But what was his lips silently uttered again what I never wanted to hear. Now I no longer doubt. For a sense of bleakness, of shame, disappointment and decency, I continued to pretend not to have understood that at least hoping to desist, and then drop the pathetic advances. Useless, wanted to get to the bottom. And impatient, left the lip and broke very clear in its request obscene:

Me Can you see my pussy?

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a special evening

Put a Saturday night whatever you decide to go for a pizza with a friend friend of a friend and some never seen before. Do you expect the usual presentations. A vague sense of embarrassment waiting for it to break the ice. Chat quite formal. Some comments on the white pizza with zucchini flowers and anchovies (my favorite) and "bundle nutella" Teo, who is an amazing stuff.

Although I strove to provide the most accurate information and reference points unequivocally to the M. and the three strangers arrive at their destination with ease, remain a quarter of an hour off to wait in vain. I decided then to continue my waiting inside the room and take a seat at our table. They spend at least another ten minutes and, beyond the window, I see the M. which passes the restaurant without seeing the restaurant. Look up and shipped pace, you notice that their is a leader. E 'in the top of the little party that follows confident. Look straight ahead of him. I would not deviate in at least one eye on his right. I'm beginning to smanaccare in a vain attempt to capture their attention. After seeing it disappear along with his devoted following, I decided to run out and the group is already fifty yards away. I get to scream and jump and only then the four understand and come back. The laughs are on the best presentations, it will be hasty and informal. You sit at the table and he immediately "in vivo" with no preamble whatsoever. The C. Wire and tells me to sign the hospital tragicomic events that have just played a leading role because of an invasive ductal breast cancer. His dismay and a good deal, understandable, fifa is mixed with gaiety and underlying irony, as well as the tendency to play down everything through a vein of considerable cynicism. M, without even a shadow of hypocrisy, "puts in place" the crisis in his relationship with her boyfriend C., which is actually standing there and listening impassively as if it were unconnected with the facts. I understand the attitude, not at all responsive, disguised as a form of mortification. And then I realized, with the progress of the evening, which is exactly as you see, peaceful, and imperturbable ... or maybe a little lazy? This bliss I can see it in his face. Also in the somatic. Instinctively I associate with Cicciobello. Cicciobello "collects" which is a wonder. It might seem indifferent, if not for the loving gestures releasing more often than his partner who is putting, so to speak, a bit in the pillory. In all this, M. might seem a bit the harpy. In reality his heartfelt, excited, sometimes a little angry, outside, do nothing but express their desire stubborn, common to many women, to save his relationship at all costs and not to give evidence that man which is still in love simply will never change. Emerge one by one, life experiences, including the most wretched, and weaknesses of each. Are involved, in spite of myself, from the beginning by M., who in describe his difficult family situation (Cicciobello separately), for every tragedy evoked calls me into question "and then there can not speak of this Christ is also the best of me, because it happened too ..." "Christ is true? Do you know something, eh? Tell him a little ..." "The Cree understands me well because she too ...". The pizzeria
soon becomes the scene of a boisterous "psychotherapy" group. Between a laugh and the other eyes that moisten, a few tears and some other overt stealth.

the time to say goodbye, apologizing to mention the four so a little humor to the evening "as" ... unconventional. But do not leave him no time. Satura to see how they always sweeten all tired of the pantomime in which everyone will pretend happy or balanced, and feeling like you assume you expect that you speak, or show off your interest in a person who does not actually have (if they did, they would know in the eyes, or at least , try looking in), for they know not to go beyond appearances, pretending to compare, simulate the fun and merriment that does not belong at all (and yes that makes me sad), I thanked them for the wonderful evening. And I think there again soon.

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"I'm sorry. I realized. Thirty € for a frugal supper at the Cro * I seem a little too much. I go out on Saturday night. How know is a periodaccio. I have to sip the exits in an attempt to limit costs. Maybe I would have thought, eh ... I'll join you after dinner? "

" OK, Cri. done. I called and I said you were sick. "

does not replicate any more.
(If you are sick, how do I present myself after dinner?)

(*" House of the People Circolo Arci Uisp "... and I had also gets a cake)

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sms and answers implied a clear idea of \u200b\u200bthe public so

I opened a blog on Splinder.
The day after I moved up Tumblr.com. (I think you call it that).
I felt satisfied.
That's what I need.
of anonymity.
Now I feel free to express myself without censorship.
Nobody knows me.
I have not put my face,
I have not put my name.
do not know where I live.
No reference to places and real people.
No biographical information that can be traced back to me!
It's not that I wanted to throw Crilogie.
I'm snubbing great, yet we are loyal.
At first I liked ... and I was also helpful.
But today the situation is bleak.
And I tried to unlock them elsewhere.
(and then possibly go back to basics with a new courage).
I peeped here and there where people dare to blog so much.
words freely without concern for the opinions of others.
no inhibition. Not even on intimate matters and gory and inappropriate.
to be.
Thanks a lot.
It 'so easy!
They're hiding behind a nick!
With the aura of mystery that surrounds them, can afford to say what he wants and is always intriguing!
(Cazzo. I, however, are too crystalline).
... under these conditions, I would perhaps be able to give myself the best I can?
Indeed, "those", so apparently audacious, I eat them all.
Indeed.
first day of business: four posts.
I broke the ice.
And basically I do not regret what I wrote.
In no time at all, I find two friends and two comments.
second day of activities: three posts.
I like a bit less.
Third day of activities around the gate.
Nothing to be done.
Maybe not quite cut it.
might be, but are not.
Or maybe my problem is the inconsistency. I get tired of things quickly. Or maybe
cyclothymia.
Or maybe my head is so incontinent of thoughts and emotions, they can no longer be able to keep up. Nor to extrapolate what is right and say what is best to leave out.
So, apparently, is my subconscious censor. Regardless of who the law or not.
Tonight I take out my last diary.
The first page bears the date of my twenty-first birthday.
From the engagement, it is up to the wedding.
Then the crisis.
separation. A new love.
the death of my father. There
stops.
But, incredibly, there are still many blank pages waiting for me to fill a gap of ten years.
Maybe it's the right night to start ...

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after my brainless in vain to find a title.

after trying unsuccessfully to remove the horrid word "as a tourist."

after not being able to address in any way to the "docking" of the woman's feet in the foreground (the result of my total incompetence on the photographer).

to me, though, I like it anyway.

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Tonight I was going to do more or less is fine (to Verdone).
What's this desire that I take?
probably the incomprehensible betrayal of my "friend" E. destabilized me a lot.
More than I thought.
With this frenzy of communication, I begin to systematically call all the numbers stored in my phone. The
Susy is not responding. Right. Told me that the dinner party (not specific party because I am ashamed of myself). The
Erika. She also engaged in election campaign (deployment opposite to that of Susy). In fact, I liquid in three seconds. Fausto
I've already called twice. Poor bastard. Let him alone.
Here! The Alessandra! What better? After the trip to Turkey that we did together, is at home with a fever and dysentery! It 'also imperative that informed me about his state of health! But it has the phone turned off. Seeking
foothold in my sister (casserole dish, here's half a bond of blood!). Disappoint my expectations have been less emphatic than expected.
I try also with the e-mail. Send some mail, with little evidence.
Then I remember the Sandra (com 'is not I think of that before?). Former co-worker through a difficult time because of separation from her husband. Maybe she will like a chat ... And it is so! Indeed, goes further. Invited me to visit her. Moral of the story, and now look childbirth. I carry around three hundred twenty-seven the album with photos taken in Turkey and a box of Turkish sweets. Leafed through it together, alternating sips of limoncello to cigarettes, and copious tears to guffaws.

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cats Turkish

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cognitive distortions or sixth sense?

(Too cryptic Eh. ... But me and tell me I mean ...)