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Living. The woman

Do not worry, I'm still alive.
If no new messages, animating my blog is just that these days I have no desire to write. Driving my twingo I write every day for new posts that I am unable to type once back in my apartment. When I force myself to write the result is bad (my last production was a disaster). So I abstain. Theoretically this pause is temporary but I do not know when I stopped. One week, one month, one year? Who knows?

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puzzle (revised).

Lily is my wife puzzle. Every day I collect the photos she sent me and tries to redial on my computer screen. I have all the essential elements of his anatomy. I know his face, his belly, his back, his black hair, her breasts, buttocks, her hips, her thighs, her sex, her feet and arms. The digital parts of this puzzle should shameless allow me to have today a complete picture of my dear Lily. Nevertheless, I still very difficult to develop a complete picture of the person. When I close my eyes I see an assemblage of images whose unity is beyond me.

For some reason I will not expose here, our physical meeting has been postponed to the end and I felt a terrible frustration. Obsessive torments me constantly, that of taste and smell her flower without waiting for the fruit she promised me.
Until we simply Long telephone conversations interspersed occasionally by carelessness sensual, imagining together our first contact outside the virtual space.

forced abstinence imposed by the current situation really painful to me because my ferocious sexual appetite has been tremendously stimulated by erotic telephone blunders of the past weeks. ( Crystal Ship Sailor ). This week, Miss A, charming and modest young lady in love with my person, has also failed to undergo the wrath of my libido. It is not so little that I have the opportunity to be tipped on my futon.
few days ago, A. indeed contacted me to offer me an output drive. Given the paucity of programs we have decided to postpone the release until the following week. While we were about to hang up my male hormones took over and made a proposal to my correspondent that I now quite ambiguous. Why does she not come home that evening, watching a DVD and keeping me company? His refusal
, preceded by a long moment of hesitation, did not surprise me beyond measure but I am convinced that I had only to push it a little bit to convince her to join me.
With hindsight I think I was right not to insist further. If Miss A. took the risk of being thrown into the lion's den I might take the opportunity to try something with it despite my lack of feelings towards him ... and while thinking of my dear Lily. We all escaped.

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Day Crab.

This morning, on entering the staff room, I immediately felt something was amiss. In this small, smoky room where teachers are waiting for the end of recess, the atmosphere is usually relaxed, even schoolboy, let alone the eve of a weekend.

Today the atmosphere was simply a disaster. I joined in silence one of the few vacant seats wicker while some colleagues greeted me with a pained smile and forced. Others do not even look m'accordèrent, eyes lost in the distance or simply attached to the ceiling or on their shoes.

Only once installed I discovered that the object of attention. C, very corpulent music teacher, was surrounded by his four colleagues talking in low voices. One of them gently encircled her neck while slipping him a few words in his ear. When freed himself from this embrace, I have come across a brief moment her eyes that I froze.
His eyes misted and reddened by tears, shouted "at relief.
Lost, I tried to understand the situation with me clinging to a few snippets of conversation exchanged in whispers by C. and those around him. She spoke in a news to share with his son's efforts to regroup and hold back the tears, of his intention to give battle to the end.
Miss A's mother confirmed my worst fears. A damned crab had taken up residence in the liver of C. and this, briefing the previous day by his doctor, had to share it with friends.
I'd love to get up and shake my arms out loud through the 120 pounds of pain and anxiety but it is something I'm not. I see people suffer capsized but I'm still not what those who know how to find the appropriate words and gestures.

few minutes later I heard that JP mentioned a few weeks ago on this blog (the post 22-10), when to him was going through his last days, also devoured from within by death-grip. The day before, I had been on the phone, where a pasty see, he assured me that he felt much better. I had so wanted a good year before I realized my blunder. The guy seems to hang on despite the dark shadow that hangs over his hospital bed. It will disappear soon unless I've never heard him complain of his condition. Here's what to me makes sense of the word "courage."

Some days, the ephemeral nature of our existence and jumps me violently in the face and immerse myself in agony the next day. As the years pass and I realize my end very close and that of my family.
Men are definitely not made to die.

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solitary pleasures.

Yesterday was my first day of this holiday truly relaxing.
Lying on my futon in my draws I white Ikea library some books that I repais the sound of the Doors (LA Woman) and Pink Floyd (Wish You Were Here). Lovecraft, Poe, Glen Cook's Black Company, are my companions in idleness. Periodically, I put my book on the edge of my bed and get lost in contemplation of a blue sky through heavy clouds fleecy. The apotheosis of this day is the preparation of tea with my tea IWACHU imported directly from Japan. Soothing drink that I accompany some liches roses, fruit of great sensuality, including fresh juices and sweet accommodates one can with the Darjeeling better fruit red. Do not have a decent tea I'm just a delicate mug made in China reported the currency posting of Edinburgh in Scotland: Pro libertate. I like nothing better than to take advantage of this freedom and do nothing, supreme luxury of our hyperactive society.
I gaze down at night and after a timed signal to restore me to the parental home (my fridge remains desperately empty), I ended my evening with my dear Lily, whose daring seemed to have curiously shocked many readers.
But history is not over ...

PS: Thanks for your many comments But me, I confess, sometimes really surprised. I do not think so shocking and elicit reactions as violent. Why try and deny nudity or desire? I note with chagrin that sexual liberation is a failure.