Provided that the heating is on.
My fingers are still flooded from the end of December. Numbness
remember the times when after a dinner guest have left, I realized that by storing a few glasses of wine (I hear a few drinks too many) had occupied my time and discouraged my desire to write. The winter is often white pages, by dint of having to bend my fingers, then fold them, then blow it, then hop, then put on a record, then dancing and then answer the phone and then hungry, then ... realize that I had lying instead of writing, all because of digital partial paralysis. It's as if my soul lay in my phalanges. And let me anesthetized with a lot of negative temperatures.
The big difference today is that I certainly fit refrigerated but sober as a Mormon and provided with a pair of gloves. Yes, because 2-quart, and 1 double pastis for my liver, is a rookie joke. It's like this is not a cowboy who wants to. And even that sometimes are cowboys who did not want that much. Proof.
short.
And the end of my fingers is not cold, on the contrary, it warms impatience, he wriggles and suffers almost feeling the desire of the keyboard so hard swelling under his fingernail.
still I hope that I would have thought to turn on the heater before leaving, after having prepared story he does not colder at home than outside. Fingers crossed operational.
My door opens on a wave of warmth and caring I thought stealth but really caring for those who wrote or painted or repaired cars in the cold, when it was not really water and gas to all floors.
I leave the Siberian air on the steps and open the Pandora's box MacBook.
Despite the sensual pleasure I feel in drag streaks of my fingerprints on Azertyuiop, I can not express it, all my thoughts are invaded by the excitement I experienced in recent days need to evolve in the middle of running feet of stores in stock fir, laden with curling ribbon and gift wrap frankly dubious taste and heads full of stars without anyone really knowing why. As the mouths blathering monologues haunted by two dates, if one believes the general enthusiasm, must necessarily possess the key to happiness, or maybe the recipe against world hunger, they lead me to understand more on 25 and 31 of this month.
is not a family, to have or not, though, mine, family comes down to a spawning and three cats, it makes little gifts and more cats, or December 25 not. The family is not the issue. I knew the big tables filled to the point that many no longer recognize what is the cousin over there at the end. I knew it and I'm back. For proof: my family consisting of a spawning and 3 cats. If you look closely, it is not so sacred that the blood tie, I swear, it must deny three times in 2 movements.
is not a story of kinship, then, or even home. It is mainly a matter of money outliers, hypocrisy doche beautiful, boasting dishes from Limoges, and best of bloopers, personalities of the year are always the same ignorant and children who can not show off at the beginning because they did not have the right brand. It is a story of dictatorship emotional happiness and competition. All this in a country that claims to secular but who can not help swing ad for perfume ad for jewelry in honor of a guy who was wearing a lot and surely not all that disgust beyond measure if one believes the rumors circulating about him.
Some friends still move me the childlike delight with which they await the event. But we are not children, in December, one's portfolio. And the magic only lasts for the duration of a song.
http://www.deezer.com/en/ # music / result / all / barbara% 20noel
And you, your Christmas?
-Bah, well, yeah.
Ah, "property" is that all?
Yes, finally, that is, eat well, drink well, and that's what.
-Oh ... Sorry.
M'enfin, that's something else. I have not actually had to suffer the garish new Christmas lights on a Christmas tree farm at the foot of noisy children whose tear packages to printed cretinization teeming with useless made by other children who have never had really time to believe in Santa Coca Cola.
The case-in-law.
And your New Year's Day then?
- Hell, it was found to have no subway and kissing in the street when it was -4.
-Oh yeah, hard. And you?
Me: In-cro-ya-ble: we were in a big house with a fireplace and field 'galore.
-Han, chaaaaaaance.
Indeed, I do not consider myself the worst of the peeling another 31 days and, indeed, I sometimes drink champagne in a large house more often than once a year.
The leg-in-law.
And the spirit of family worry what?
-Er, no streamers?
"No but seriously.
-Seriously, are you serious?
-The family spirit of Christmas, anyway!
Ah but because the family spirit that is once a year? Ah, well, I thought it was just the family every day. The people I must see once a year, I'll die before giving them the nickname of "family".
But, and gifts? You like not that the gifts?
"I love not having to find stores that change, really.
But, y 'has always hit that mark, it's Christmas anyway.
Ah, because it also presents is that once a year?
"No but you see what it is symbolic.
-Symbolic of what in fact, reminds me.
-...
-The only symbol I see attached to this date is the birth of a type that represents a religion when you do not tell me-if I'm wrong recovered by a blessed to be able to make its cash cow, tell me if I'm wrong.
"But then you do not like Christmas?
-Nan. And you know what? I'm not alone even. One day they will be millions and we will reverse the order of things and flat screens, small bracelets and gift certificates will be less malignant.
And feasts that end in settlement of accounts between two cousins, everything has always separated ... very little for me.
is all this resentment that comes out of my index finger, my ring and my major, so that basically, here I am. Even if I step with 3 fingers.
Basically I love this time of year for her beauty fixed and the night is synonymous with warmth and festive or duvets and somersaults, which falls earlier. I like the numbness in my cheeks and blood whipping my ears. I like the feeling that my house is impenetrable behind my windows when the weather deign to offer us a few flakes. Like
even approaches being adopted Mallard cautiously when facing the said flakes turned into slippery mud.
I like the idea that a new year arrives, it is always better than nothing and it still lost, it is also an opportunity to admit that there is no time for me happening and I did not realize that the worst ways to spend it. But I'm
noisy left to right and top to bottom. It speaks only of wind. It's everywhere all the time, radio, in newspapers, in mouths that I embrace in the air, in the era, and choking in the middle of winter and summer bottled in Mexico City.
Oh and then, all these customs, these habits, these calendars ... as if we were not already enmeshed in all the time.
I just wish the damn blessed month is devoted to eating foie gras, drinking wine, they teach me to start a fire too, and it keeps fine sentiments for the 363 other days neglected. If it's not asking too much to type for all small bearded rhesus. Even if they are not angels.
Merry Christ my ass.
-maispastrop-
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