update the blog.
Constipation in body and soul.
Spleen overwhelming.
Hypo-pantry.
Shops closed for holidays.
primitive chaos at home.
Camel Light become the exclusive property of an elite tobacconist of Milan.
above refrigerator plant in full experience of dehydration and near-death, brisk walk toward the light at the end of the tunnel. Unexpectedly survive and become a fundamentalist Catholic. It will ask you to pay for a ticket to the meeting of CL in Rimini.
After the holidays it's all terribly difficult.
does not seem, in the sense that one might think, "Now you're relaxed and rested, now so you can share the gas!" - Then "again at full throttle" of you brings to mind images comics in which the characters of questionable taste will win the motion to rise to the sound of farts by portentous intestinal propulsion due to flatulence, but that's another story.
One might think "What are you complaining, you are lucky, not everyone is up to 3 weeks of leave, time force, lavuri, ale!" At the time of
high school, perhaps, could be so vaguely when, after 3 months abundant shameless fooling around, it's time to go between the desks. So we met outside school, on a day indefinitely mid-September, shortly before 8 am, around the corner of Via Pupino intersection with Corso Umberto, close to the program with many films such as the 5 cinema in the city of two seas. So when we saw again, after 3 months, all taller, thinner, or, in your case, more tanned, he had the feeling that usually resume routine was unpleasant-but-not-too . Acceptable, if nothing else. Vaguely legitimate. Sensation that lasted for more than 30 minutes, mind you, just in time to see the new classroom and show off the new journal, which would be written exclusively on the shit and of course, never the tasks for the next day. It was scientifically proven fact that one person in the class marked the tasks for the next day your classmate. And it was also scientifically proved that all those who, every day, she called for the express purpose of discovering what there was to study the next day.
When you work, there is not even the illusion of an hour to return. Not for one second think that is fair, lawful or reasonable return to work.
After the holidays it's all terribly difficult.
does not seem, in the sense that one might think, "Now you're relaxed and rested, now so you can share the gas!" - Then "again at full throttle" of you brings to mind images comics in which the characters of questionable taste will win the motion to rise to the sound of farts by portentous intestinal propulsion due to flatulence, but that's another story.
One might think "What are you complaining, you are lucky, not everyone is up to 3 weeks of leave, time force, lavuri, ale!" At the time of
high school, perhaps, could be so vaguely when, after 3 months abundant shameless fooling around, it's time to go between the desks. So we met outside school, on a day indefinitely mid-September, shortly before 8 am, around the corner of Via Pupino intersection with Corso Umberto, close to the program with many films such as the 5 cinema in the city of two seas. So when we saw again, after 3 months, all taller, thinner, or, in your case, more tanned, he had the feeling that usually resume routine was unpleasant-but-not-too . Acceptable, if nothing else. Vaguely legitimate. Sensation that lasted for more than 30 minutes, mind you, just in time to see the new classroom and show off the new journal, which would be written exclusively on the shit and of course, never the tasks for the next day. It was scientifically proven fact that one person in the class marked the tasks for the next day your classmate. And it was also scientifically proved that all those who, every day, she called for the express purpose of discovering what there was to study the next day.
When you work, there is not even the illusion of an hour to return. Not for one second think that is fair, lawful or reasonable return to work.
The end of the holidays is something relentlessly negative .
When working, the end of the leave is no bad thing way out. According repubblicapuntoit called "Post Vacation Blues" - back syndrome, commonly known as that, though, so named because it also seems a thing discreetly pussy, suggests that images of New York taverns where blues-stage play the torment of their bondage.
The Post Vacation Blues "afflicts 6 million Italians and is a clearly diagnosable disease, with a lot of symptoms, and curable only through new holiday.
know they're not alone, however, is mildly comforting.
You've been on vacation for three long weeks .
Three long weeks during which you have not done anything amazing, which you do not have photographs, or souvenirs. You've been on vacation for three long weeks, you have seemed very short, at home, the real home, that the southerners from which proudly come from. Three weeks of which will remain just a series of sensations, which in aziendalese we could imagine as a succession of chart:
- The Ryanair plane landing at Bari, which always seems to you a plane Playmobil sitting Bari between a foul and a bodybuilder Bitonto filled with anabolic steroids.
- The view from the window of bare land, scorched by the sun and scattered with olive trees as far as the eye can see.
- The hot sirocco wind that you have invested on the ladder just out of the door, with your lotus flower in her hair, holiday icon. The scent of the south sea, Murgia, sun and home.
- Your mother is waiting for you at the arrivals with a vucumprà next. No, wait, is your father.
- The hot sirocco wind that you have invested on the ladder just out of the door, with your lotus flower in her hair, holiday icon. The scent of the south sea, Murgia, sun and home.
- Your mother is waiting for you at the arrivals with a vucumprà next. No, wait, is your father.
your father that after two days at sea on time becomes a Maghreb. You envy him terribly. Did you want to look like him in this. Only, as you used to say, you did a kind of cocktail of the defects of your parents, rather than a combination of qualities: you could be thin like your mother, your father instead of six as a barge. You could have the right big toe like your father, but you've got it wrong like your mother. You could have your ass mandolin as a mom, but you got to the tambourine like Daddy (Six high demand, in fact, for the night of the tarantula).
- chats with relatives in the garden with mosquito- Capezzone , harassing carriers of malaria and dementia, and the smell of heated coils to combat them.
- The eyes of your mother, all the talk and everything to please understand that without saying.
- The pampering your father, afternoons by the sea and the Illy coffee cream.
- The orange sun beds and controversy among the public beach and bathhouse , maturation, or bourgeois, comfort or wilderness?
- The orange sun beds and controversy among the public beach and bathhouse , maturation, or bourgeois, comfort or wilderness?
- The Mid Melinda eating the turnovers with ricotta asquante the country house of your aunt.
- The sound of crickets at night.
- Appetizers Basile Pucci and birds, chips and mayonnaise.
- Your cousin that makes you see Saturn through the telescope.
- The nights until dawn to laugh with Pepo and Gaia .
- The likes and dislikes.
- Album of Caravan.
- The Valentino empty.
The Valentine was a must summers Tarantino. A dingy kiosk that sells alcohol on the coast at prices at least competitive and that in previous seasons had been affected by a sort of unprecedented economic boom, becoming the first stop - required of every-night. All mostly tax-free. Cozzari, jocks, alternative, Valentino exerted a gravitational force on any social species in the city. This year, suddenly, there was more. Shock. But you, you were the old guard have continued to spend every evening. You have also talked to the owners asking why dell'infausto phenomenon. They answered that they all went to the cabin Zi Pepp in San Vito, a place even worse than the Valentine in question, where the smell of sulfur t'annienta, placed exactly in front of Ilva, which fits the Social guerrilla and awareness, but a beer in front of the red smoke the demon steel, maybe not. - The Valentino empty.
- Pasta with mussels, the mussel with pepper, mussels au gratin ...
- The DJ sets to the surf rock cafe, seen the faces, the faces lost.
- Neo that has no hair but it is always uagnone nu bell.
- Dialect.
- Driving on the coast.
- Checkpoints miraculously escaped.
- The water at the spiaggine Jamaica , friselle with tuna and tomatoes, the wet towel under the body, the grains of sand lodged in every nook and cranny, the clear sky, the gulls, chatting with people known to be forever and ever in-depth, the sound of the waves slight lazy that you spread on the shore and the sound of empty bottles of cold Raffo thrown in the trash at sunset.
On garbage cans of Jamaica was a sign saying "Jamaica clean life ' (for it is written phonetically, in Taranto ... a view that would be permissible to write" Greetings from Niu Iorc). A few years ago, caused a sensation a sign displayed on the beach that said "Smoke, drink, and make good use but do not inzivuso" (which stands for "dirty, filthy, dirty" in this case also as "uncivilized" ). The local press went wild. On the other hand a little 'cane pollute much more of Riva, and this is known. The fact is, however, that in Jamaica a sense of civility reigns than apparent throughout the Ionian coast, and this is a phenomenon largely imponderable beyond our dreams and at the population Taranto media. That a treatment-based soft drugs may awaken the citizenship of a population? For the censors will judge.
The Jamaica is open 24 hours a day, we go to sea, if you want cenarci, if you want us back in the evening to hear the concerts of reggae and drum n bass - that we planted in the brain - and cause damage. As RC says: "The Jamaiaca is unbeatable because it is totally customer oriented."
- The feet on the dashboard of Mid Melinda who, exactly, sberciava.
And you, who promptly laughed. - The creaking of the rocking chair in the garden.
- The brief encounter with Barbin, just back from Spain and, as always, prolific nature of gastro-intestinal stories about his adventures abroad.
- Discussions of international politics at the beach and the reef scientific sweepers, drinking iced lemon terribly watered down.
- A new haircut and a new hair color, the diversity of which no one came, but realized it does not matter, you know, you're a conservative girl.
- And, finally, that feeling is always present, of not wanting to go away . But not even the cock and despite all the perfectly rational considerations that cyclically do.
That feeling is always present, to love the damn reassuring familiarity of those places, that's nothing more than a thousand full opportunity too far. While driving the car of your father, from Martina Franca Taranto, rolling down the limestone hills of the Valle d'Itria, in the dark, silent, directed towards the lights of a city abbruttita intolerably, unbearably beautiful, but potentially abbruttita.
Would you talk on the way as you always speak. But shut up. Abandon you. And for a moment pretend that it is as it ever was. Like all those times when you were small and, returning from a dinner at your favorite aunt, you fall asleep in the car, lying on the back seat. To wake up alone at home, get dressed and go out to live the night, however, was still very young.
That goes on to ask how it would be, if I had made different choices. Cry two tears and walk away, trying not to think because thinking too much detrimental affect in the health, like write to in Amsterdam coffee shops.
Parties in the car with half of Melinda, who will stop in Tuscany where he lives and works, while you continue the next day by train to Milan. Parties in the car with the Mid and Melinda "Is this it?" Strokes of playing and his fingers intertwined with yours, to deal with the Post Vacation Blues. Trying to accept the reality that your life is elsewhere. Trying to feel, after all, free. Dreaming of Rome, for a second, which, moreover, is only 5 hours drive from home. The real home, in the southerners. Look
green eyes brown spots scattered in the Mid Melinda and think that although growth is un'inculata dry, there is something beautiful and special. For example, him. Your man, who for the very first time you feel the desire for a shared future. With which the very first time you hear a couple, a team, a team. At least on vacation.
And it's a feeling no anxiety. It 's simple awareness, that winds sticky for the soul.
In rivulets of sweetness.
At this point in the post you deliberately kill yourself but you do not, and you will not only thanks to Gabriel and Anna who have decided to get married next Friday, in a sunny island in the Aegean charming, inviting last summer to spend the weekend together, to say "Goodbye summer, hello" to this strange season.
Sincerely, MB
