Baby Diarrhea More Condition_symptoms

Too bad for Canary Wharf

past few days probably deserve to be included in a chapter of this book fantasy that my mother called "the trials of life."

Gift spring, criminal or other food, I do not know the reason that made my whole body reacts in seconds and transforms me into a monster. I say monster because when I looked in the mirror, I see Charlize Theron. Not the Charlize glamorous and sexy on the red carpet. But the monster in Monster Charlize. If you have not seen the movie, google him (no, this is not a linguistic error. The verb "to Google" is now in the dictionary. Yes, yes ... I'm sure).

short. Apart from the aesthetic disaster which affected me deeply (I'm still a bit superficial), the real pain was situated beyond the skin and allowed me to put things in perspective.

Often in a big city like London, the organization is required. Because the minutes become precious. Metro at 7am, gym 20h, drink with friends Friday at 21h and so on. Appointments in the calendar we settle the driving pleasure of spontaneity, sleeping late and desires instant. Everything is programmed like that we can make the most of his time.

While it is by taming so that we lose really. His time.

And in this organization pushed things are happening especially next to a clear reality. That of being, despite all, human. Because in giving appointments within a week or two, thus eliminating the possibility that unpredictable external event, a "force majeure" (looks like the sleeping lawyer in me), would upset the order of things and add a few adventures in his life.

Saturday morning, I put on jeans in a hurry and walked, still in t-shirt that serves as my pajamas, in the first taxi to the emergency room. I resisted even this act of reason, hating hospitals and being imbued with the arrogance of Lebanon that nothing can happen. Until I detected in the dark eyes of my friend who was staring at me almost tangible fear.

Despite the urgency of the moment, I took care to carry my glasses and my hat, the costume that day comes naturally. And then I like to imagine, as to console me for the pain (and / or ugliness), Kate Moss on the streets of Angel in disguise for not getting to recognize and avoid attracting the curiosity passersby.

(Except that I was Charlize ... Again).

I turn the chapter of incompetent doctors, syringes, which are my only phobia, the ride in the rain in the middle of sickness absence for taxi, my mother on the phone that feels helpless but still do not understand that her voice alone is my only strength, dirty hospitals and so English, the difficulty of shopping is required when barely strength to drag their feet ... I

password. Because if I mention it because it took me to live a few difficult days for me to remember that London tried - in vain - to make me forget. I mention this because even though I suffered and I still suffer, I realized that most often goes to one side of a blessing innocuous but highly valuable, that of being healthy.

I mention this because it took me to live these moments to remember that whatever the pace of his life, always finding time to give to friends and family. Because it is to them that you think when you have blue legs and heart and when you're happy.

And ... I mention this because I had almost forgotten that same feverish and tired, there's nothing more delightful than to be awarded, for heaven's gift to spend a whole week in bed nothing to do except watch Two and Half Men on TV.

That's not all. Yes, yes, it gets even better ... The oreos and all the nonsense of the kind offered and with them the fun, yes fun with a capital P, the one who gives his acceptance in the further, that that is devoid of any sense of guilt.

Too bad for Canary Wharf. ©

©

Wakacje Z Panem Bogiem

Eggplant

There are certain foods that kids do not like. The food that I could not swallow a child, was eggplant. The color, texture and taste not only repugnant to me I will not touch, but I left all those who ate.

I can not remember the exact moment of sudden and permanent shift that made the eggplant my favorite food. I do not know if this transformation occurred through natural progression or a single act and accurate. All I know is that there is enough in a dish of eggplant, with mozzarella, chicken, pizza or pasta, so I eat until they can not stop.

And this history of eggplant makes me think that there are things in life that we must learn, over time, years, to appreciate. And failing to make the necessary effort, these things often come to us for themselves, without any invitation, with age and maturity.

Because eggplant, child, was not my only enemy. There was also trouble. I remember that I often repeated this sentence at the risk of annoying my mother running out of ideas: "I'm bored."

And now in my room on a Monday morning very different as idle, in a silence that normally would have seemed heavy and difficult, I realize that with age (even if the maturity is not yet), as the history of eggplant, I begin to enjoy the pleasure of doing nothing .... ©

Bmw Concept Gina Price

Black

Veronica Servat we propose t Kings thrillers that lead us to three cities in three different periods: Boston, New York and Trieste. We follow our guide to discover all three books.

is to read on Samarra

Abdominal Pain Scenario

By Harley Davidson

It is true that I have not written in awhile. The reason is neither secret nor poetic. I simply have nothing to say. However, I tried. I sat many times before my blank and my pen (by the way ... Microsoft Word and keyboard but it is less pretty) in the hope that the words flow. But the words did not sink. Then I tried to look vaguely remembering a beautiful sentence Valery: "A real writer does not find his words. So he seeks. And it is better. "
I seek. I'm looking for a beating heart. Because the find, or better yet, find the "best," I declare, perhaps, by the strength of the thoughts of Valery, true writer. But I quickly finished my computer close by. And plunge into a sleep. This time ... real. Valery
But if those evenings I was sorry, Proust always came to comfort me. And then I slept with a smile of complicity between Marcel and my lack of creativity. Because Proust said: "It is our passions that outline our books, and the rest of the writing interval. I liked to I think living my passions. And count on the moments of rest and any future, that I did not want to rush to write black and white what the life of me exciting.
Yes, my absence could result in a trance. Trance face of life, animals and excessive laughter, discussions and five in my little London flat, dreams, uncertainties, fears, youth.
Because I found the passion in a sense much broader than the love of a person. Yes, I discovered a love of life. Through my friends.
This week was heavy, long and painful. But a glimmer at the bottom of tunnel gave me the energy needed to survive. And more. The chewable. This small spark
called Gaëlle. It's his birthday. And of course I gave him no choice. She was to spend the weekend with me in London. What we would do not matter. Since we would be together.
the menu? Nightclubs, pubs, walks and secrets. Sure. He had to catch all this time that we had separated.
arrived Friday. And with it the excitement of two days of happiness guaranteed.
Except that what we had neither foreseen nor considered also arrived. One of these shots supposed to make life stronger but we often make just tired and feverish.
Birthday Gaëlle had fallen into the water. And alone in my room I thought of this misfortune to be sick alone in a foreign country, in a cold city, without her mother, without her family doctor without hugs as effective - if not more-than antibiotics. My eyelids
end up falling fast. But in my head sounds a song, a song sung loudly by my friend the day before in the Italian restaurant on the corner, swinging his long hair and black by rapid movements of the head. Yes, this song resonates and me gives the strength to face my empty room. And my mouth will draw a smile as unobtrusive as stupid as the voice of Gaëlle already en route to Paris fills my night: "I do not need anyone on a Harley Davidson."
Yes, tomorrow morning we will win. And I will support the starter again. To again ... leave the land. ©

Blueprints For Outside Wooden Bench

Geography "John Brown's Body" or the beginnings of the Civil War

you know John Brown ? The father of 20 children, born in 1800 into a family that believed that slavery was an offense against God, joined the colony of freed slaves from North Elba in upstate New York in 1848. He became friends with writer abolitionist Frederick Douglass .

John Brown, a defender
the abolitionist cause.

few years later in 1859, he sets out to gather around him an army of slaves to defeat the Southern slave system. His coup in the armory of the village of Harpers Ferry, Virginia , leads to his loss, he was hanged on December 2, 1859 . But the myth was born, crossing the Atlantic and inspiring even the great Victor Hugo .

In a fascinating article, which takes us through the history of the United States in the early nineteenth century to the eve of the Civil War, Blot using the song "John Brown's Body" tells the story of John Brown and shows us how the slavery was the point of attachment of nerve tension between North and South who eventually plunge the country into civil war from 1861.

To understand how the United States were disunited read the article on Histgeobox

Lord Of The Rings Hentie

rainbow

Some fish will fly now at the workshop green witch.
They will be available for sale in this beautiful boutique in Lille.

* In the previous post you gave me very pretty color bubbles to interpretations that I presented to you .. I show you soon the idea behind my head .. *

a project that takes shape and I am preparing with great pleasure .. scheduled for mid March to follow. *

good Sunday!

Mononucleosiscondition_symptoms

° oO ° o0

research grounds for making a new mobile
play with color stains, water and overlays
create a lightweight material and translucent ...

what it makes you think?

good Sunday!

Where Can I Play Pokemon Silver Online

Bad Timing

London is a city which has the advantage (and disadvantage ..., dare I say) of being a transit town. Indeed, there is always a cousin, aunt, friend, acquaintance passes for a romantic weekend for shopping, for a meeting in Canary Wharf or to visit the Queen.

And suddenly, the friend - or worse, the "knowledge" that suddenly becomes "best friend" - expected to be put our lives on hold, that we miss work, gym, nap and household, to welcome with open arms, offering him the couch and take out Big Ben (which I still have not seen - in brackets!).

short, if I mention this because my colleague (and friend, not knowledge!) Italian has the experience. Last weekend, she received a call from her first love. Italian dark it was a broken heart a day. He tells her he is visiting London and he'd like to do a 'catch-up over a drink ... "or a coffee, he takes good care to add ...

But between the glass and coffee, a big difference. And this beautiful Italian like in the movies, also has some intelligence. He leaves the choice open and casually plays both the indifferent and the sweeper.

Marianna comes to me and summed up in a hurry the last episodes, between buying a share and a call from a client. It wonder if I think she should see it. And I say yes. Not because I think, but because I know she does not care about my opinion. But I think

. I think this boy is a recurring character in our conversation on Saturday nights, and Sunday brunches. The boy who makes more the effect of old, but has still left a trace in his memory, even if the memory of a walk to the port of Venice.

Yes I think ... And I wonder what look like their reunion. Because she talked a lot about me. And I like to imagine them whispering in Italian des mots d’amour et des caresses platoniques. Mais je ne comprends pas l’italien.

Elle m’avait raconté qu’elle avait fait tomber un jour, à dix-sept ans à peine, l’une de ses boucles d’oreilles dans la voiture du beau. Elle avait ensuite tenté de le contacter à maintes reprises. Un peu pour la boucle d’oreille. Un peu pour entendre sa voix. Toujours pour sa voix. Toujours en utilisant le prétexte de la boucle d’oreille.

Mais les femmes s’impatientent. Et les femmes ne doivent jamais attendre. La boucle d’oreille fut jetée par mon amie. Et j’aime à imaginer le bijou reposant au fond d’un canal. Mais Marianna aurait trouvé the idea too banal. She had probably chosen the first bin. It is a practical girl.

The next day, the D-Day, I'm going to see the juicy details that would be perhaps a Tuesday morning gray and gloomy. She tells me, the cheeky smile and perfect hair, that this poor guy came, after all these years, announcing his love for her .... And report her lost earring once that he had kept.

She replied with a tone that I imagine both impregnated with disgust and pity, that now is missing hers.

Bad timing. ©

©

X Treme Curves/ Leigh D

gaze skyward

two skies, one drops swatch of blue-gray-white-
One scrambled and heckled by wind, north
The other announcing a beautiful sunny day, a little further south.

between Lille and Toulouse exchange heavens

a thought one to the other . For you small
Mulot *

Sebaceous Cyst. More Condition_symptoms

"Clandestino" impossible or migration, by Manu Chao

From the song "Clandestino" Manu Chao, Veronique Servat we moved on histgeobox focusing depth on contemporary migration:

"Migration is part of the history of mankind since its earliest days, movements of ancient peoples to major departures from Europe to America. Today they are at the heart of political and social debates of the North reflects the importance of these flows in the landscape of a planet globalized mobility.

Yet Been living with borders also monitored? In some places, security arrangements deterrent stack and are supported by cooperation policies anti-immigration, not to say anti-migrant.

In 1998, Manu Chao released his first solo track "Clandestino". It guides us in this world where the flows of capital, goods and information are massive while the free movement of men and solidarity are undermined, reflect the image of a world ever more unequal. "

Listen to the song and read this fine article on VServat histgeobox

Prints For Rabbit Cages

If I had slept for four days ...

If I had stayed four days, I could not understand why the streets of Beirut were deserted, the streets of Cairo and Tunisia rabid transformed. I could not understand why young Syrian whisper shyly invitations to revolt, and why Jordan decided to change his prime minister this way. I would have thought even in dream, and I snapped their fingers so that it ends. An Arab world which has so far floated peacefully in corruption, suddenly vomits its bid. A people which has been used and abused at once denies its injustice and asks God to bless him. People living in fear far the largest, showed themselves tolerant. But young people are willing to brave the war. Because they are poor and unemployed, because they are poor, whatever their ages, because they must submit. To the gods, to master. If I had stayed four days, I could not understand the logic of the market, and show why the bankers worried. I hated to miss this change, and do not live those moments. I could not understand these acts of rebellion sudden, and why there is suddenly a smell in the air jasmine.

I look at pictures and scenes, and I find myself torn between the joy we feel when we tasted the freedom and apprehension of the post. Shared between the enthusiasm that these men must feel these young women, children and the pain that comes with the pain of combat. I listen all around me my European friends who advance principles beautiful and praiseworthy, those of democracy, equality, justice. I listen to them talk as if reciting a textbook of political science or constitutional law. I pity all of naivete. Because I can not help to remember, almost by repressing the idea that comes to disturb me, for that freedom is granted, it must know the subject, able and willing to decide.

The Arab revolt today. He rises. He shouts. He probably believes. A comedy would not be passionate. Spreads a smell, a smell of flowers, and as a decoy, like that, without notice, without agenda, awakens a long-hidden pain and can no longer be supported. What scares is uncertainty about who will replace the culprit. Will he choose to wait, like this, by an act reactionary and unreasonable? Will he manipulate the crowd as it handles a virgin girl with words dreamers ... and especially liars? Does it benefit from its weakness, fatigue, the cry of SOS?

Arab countries, they all reached majority at the same time, at the same time, by pure coincidence? Some would they be influenced by their neighbors so they can not afford to pay the price of freedom?

Are they now adults, adults and vaccinated? Or is it a crisis of adolescence? A crisis that parents do happen ... Until we go again.




©

©

Ovarian Cysts More Condition_treatment

... for the new year of the cat, rabbit starts ...
one year dreamy, gentle and quiet
*
cat portrait given by my grandfather "Zouzoutte 2nd name The nice."