Cysts From Waxing Cortisone Shot

5. Not

May 4 - She said no, no and no. She said no to my salty jokes. Not to my guests courteous. Not that we will track this weekend. It very funny. I remember a sentence from a U.S. film "nothing beats the revenge of a woman" (War of the Roses ). What type of revenge would I victim? The fact of the court while having mistresses? This is a short hand for me on long months of loneliness. It's only been two weeks she returned to her homeland and I feel ten years older. His absence exhaust all my energy. Its refusal. But what? Should bend to my whims? See me several times a week simply because I want to? And disappear when I'm tired? And what am I to impose such claims? No, the one who said no. I need to face facts. She has repeated today. Not even as a joke, she is ready to welcome my advances. Sometimes, I am sure these feelings are like the vacuum that occupies my life poor dandy. I must be this, a kind of dilettante small neighborhood means. Having nothing else to do but think and enjoy simple pleasures but so Multiple; feelings stretched in time and space, ten times repeated activities day and night. In a kind of obsession looking for lost pleasures. The compulsion to this honest it reveals its purpose. So I have to love this subject, is not it? No, says the trouble, merely the result of loneliness. My sheets still smell the scent of a lover and my thoughts imbued with my beloved. Between the two, my mind vague on the sea of possibilities.

May 5 - What would I do that I'd soon? At school, I did not have my tank because I did not understand the principles and applications of derivation. Now I understand, I embody a function derived from the company. An impromptu futile. In other times and places I had been decimated to infructuosité . By publishing these writings, I have become hostage to these feelings. If I no longer loved her or if she responded positively to all my requests, well what would I tell? I wonder now how this will affect my thinking "feelings". And if I did marry, it would be the death of art.

May 6 - It is therefore necessary that I continue to love, at least I try hard. Nothing is more imaginary than real newspaper intimate. Nothing is more fictional, in that it features a self transformed by the requirements of the letter and those of the genus. Sometimes we even talked on the phone. It was Sunday, she had a dinner. She has declined my invitation. I feel that she will never have any free time for me. I know how dynamic I've caused us. This imbalance stable, the inequality. It's the same for the world and love. Today, psychologists call this "emotional dependency". It's less romantic but true. Like any addiction, its soil is vice, loneliness, vacancy, or wounded pride. Four nights of celebration in a row, a permanent hangover throughout the day and flash pictures of her. Of smiles that make me believe that happiness still exists, and it would be an ideal wife. Like love, happiness is a belief. It happens to you if you believe. It is an act of courage because it is more virtuous to laugh than to complain, and harder to live than to die. Navel-gazing this text? No, phallic. Between this text and retracts erect again.

When A Scorpio Male Loses Interest

3. We meet again someday?

She is there before you. Available all day. But you know she will say no. Then you try you all day by small and tender words diverted to seduce her. Your tricks are going nowhere. They are easily spotted. You think the only effective, but nobody is fooled. This is where all lovers are ridiculous. The movements of the soul, the movements of their being, they go, they come, leaving and returning on their steps, never satisfied to give up, never sure of their destiny. In anticipation and doubt, hesitation, and sometimes confusion. They secretly rejoice, if only the impossible took place ... Because that is who is infinitely desirable, which is definitely refused. "The man burns to do what he feared most," said Tadic. You open a conversation window, but you no longer dare. Enough of chess! Yet you think about all day, you believe in your heart that things depend on you and refuse to concede to the other its share of responsibility. In this the love is tyrannical.

Now paralysis. You want, but you can not do anything else. She won, you're dumb. You will not say anything else inside. In a last hesitation tell you something, the less possible, because you have nothing to say, the current does not pass. Tonight you will take the decision to drop like yesterday. Tomorrow you begin again. This is what Camus calls the myth of Sisyphus.

But no you're a hunter, a hunter and does not let go until he has his prey in sight, driven by an inscrutable force, even in the greatest despair, he finds the strength to persevere. For the honor. Love is a permanent imbalance. Killed in action ... rather than having deserted. Here he sees things from a new angle. This beloved wife to whom he said he had good intentions it now seems like a simple beast he must track down an enemy of war we must fight or die.

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4. The candlelight dinner

These small moments of delight that precede a main course. She is down there, waiting for me in his car.

She has great hands because it's a big girl. A masculine facial features sometimes, especially when her hair is gathered in back, a little belly, and a slight overweight. His lower jaw is slightly prominent and lower incisors misplaced. I feel like a butcher.

all in his eyes. Squint a little and furtive glances provide him an undeniable charm. I'm still very disappointed. But this is only the physical. This is not the most important. The most important thing we experienced his Catholicism talked half the night. The rest is the importance that his family is his life. His magical smile, I have rarely seen. Not more than a trace of coquetry. Earrings would have done well. She is beautiful. I think she would not appeal and is successful.

escorted home I intended to offer him a necklace of polished stones for another. I hesitated between submit the thing as a lie and assure him that he was bought to the mountain to his attention at Christmas 2006, or telling the truth, he was destined to one that has greater significance and that 'I would be happy to offer it to her now. I preferred to simply say thank you for the evening. Curiously, I think of her since I got home. As in love with her. Yet some of his actions I was somewhat embarrassed, as this lighter with which she kept burning packages of our packages of cigarettes, this candle in which she kept not collect the wax with his left index finger and play with while trying to catch his eye permanently absorbed by this thankless task. This heart that I finally made with the plastic packaging melted. These kids stuff, it's waste. I want to fuck my lighters! When four o'clock in the morning I'd run out of fire, I think of you baby. Finally, his decision to go to the tavern in the company of women and especially without me. Why? Yet she had understood that I liked the place. I understand the phone yesterday she would keep me his evening. But no, she had two other appointment. One had to cancel and another that allowed him to zap me. I literally said: "Excellent evening, thank you very much, hope to the next." I do not know if I lied and said "good evening". Profile in his car, it becomes wonderfully beautiful, as if she forgot to ugly for me, and doing it covered his whole superb. In truth it is a tribute to his little nose. It is not turned up, I think it is aquiline, but tiny and cute little eyes, separated by a distance that adorable little face just gratify a beautiful harmony.

I do not like girls with big hands. In the best case I do not take them often. And our children they would have big hands too? My daughters?

More than anything I desire to see her. But we should quickly take action. I could not long endure his presence without carnal intercourse. Tonight I did not want. But just wanted to touch her belly slightly concave. His dry lips did not give the urge to kiss her. And although it was slightly raised, his lower lip when she moistened with his tongue, transformed his face and did not miss attractions. Once face to face, early dinner, I almost commit to tell her she should have put the red on her lips. I am caught up later by asking whether or not she finally waxing. That's all me. Always I will commit a blunder at the worst time - just before we left - while I have kept the whole evening. I think it has not bothered too much.

And she? Has she shown any sign of desire, some attraction to me? I think she did not even that we might be kissing. A moment in his presence I felt old and I'm there at all. Working Your Way to the charm. Like when she hung on my "Canadian accent" and I turned the conversation. In fact I'd rather not talk about this ogre for the moment, he took everything from me. But hey. It turns out that she enjoys traveling and Canada seemed to interest him. But what could I speak? Of my failures, my studies? The best moments? Those where I had decided to fully live my youth after leaving my ex? When I changed my lover three times a week I drank more beer than water. This period will likely make me an unfaithful husband, a lover of variety?

I do not know. I waited four months and it pleases me very little. Yet I fear the day of his departure in eight months. If she fell in love with my country and what future would we? I mean the best. And how to live with a girl as requested socially? I'm not being jealous, there are moments in life ... moments of doubt and moments of temptation. And our children, they would have a dual religious upbringing? His parents take badly. Not mine. And come to such ideas even as it served me repeatedly refusing to take me for a simple lover. It had to be right, having said that I loved the refusal and that "it was my pride speaking." Perhaps, then what? I love, my pride.

The contact will be possible in three hours. I'm curious to know what I say to him. Probably serve him to make me nice and I should not say, make her feel that she owes a debt to me. Yet it is universal: when you do not like for yourself, we looking for other qualities, whether or not they are, and it inevitably becomes meek.

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2. The period of doubt

I must admit defeat. I must admit that you have resisted all of my advances. Drunkenness intoxicating early today leaves room for doubt, the fragility and waiting, the sin of love. The unease replaces the bewitching, with a permanent feeling of desire mixed with frustration. A heavy morbid melancholy weighs on me, stronger than love and mild transient hatching. The flowers fade easily. With you, my childhood falls down on me like a load of distant memories. And here I am contemplating the work of my life mired up to his neck even more unable to move before. It is a brutal return. Immobilization negative, destructive feelings and retrograde. I do not abandon you. After all I want for nothing. But yet you're here periodically. If not drunk, I think of you, if not asleep, I dream of you, if you're not there, you're everywhere. In this cigarette that I smoke and you smoke too. In this beer that we drank together at the pub. I am afraid to start your indifference to love more than your actual charms. Abandonment, Proust said, makes more in love than being.

Every morning that God does, I open the chat program and secretly wait your entry online. Sometimes when you connect, I do not show my presence and remains hidden for hours sometimes a day. I know I have nothing to say interesting because the whole society condemns my condition of being idle. So I wait in vain for the night anxiously we meet again and that we furnish alcohol under the same provisions as the first night, but no, none of this will occur. Even if we meet again, I would not be the same, neither you nor us. This we that I alone decide, what we that separates us from the beginning. I did not really desired. This must be it love, thinking of you without you sexualize.

But no, nothing of love and delicious without love. Leaving only the obsession, the great racing fun when fun is over. Yet this very precious to me idle at the moment. I have never been in greater need of isolation and time. I collect myself, I read, write, I find myself slowly. Sometimes I projected a few months before, I met you on the terrace of light into radiant presence my fiancee and I thought you were dull, teenager, unattractive, we exchanged greetings and courtesies both, and we left her, and I half-heartedly . "Love is not "did we have agreed you and me. Between us there will never. No regret, the simple and light emanation of a memory that I do not know if it is agreeable or not. Time to think and oblivion submerged. In the distance we see the planes take off one after the other. One moment I forget that my wife and I were coming back to the airport. My wife ... Well, I already forgot that we were only engaged. Maybe eventually you or your memory? You who love both departures and a final tribute as a sign of respect, a hint of admiration, a look of incomprehension. The world is too small. Our meeting had no place. Say I wanted it to be you, my wife ... That is always the case. This tension between the expectation of one side and the harassment of another. No, our relationship will never be a collection of thoughts and aphorisms of broken hopes and vain memories. A collection than you probably never will read. You'll leave, I remember having enjoyed without faith, a pledge of eternal recommencement. The hope is for life, will say it.

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1. An impromptu meeting

She really has a thin face, dull Discrete and eyes, giving it less shiny and more charm. A face with delicate features, straight nose and short of a child, and a joie de vivre that seems to say his whole body. His whole being is delighted, pleased, radiant, exalted, and turned toward the sky. Never did his eyes is below the horizon, never his face keeps smiling at life. Loved by all sides, by the photographer lover who glorifies him as a little as he can. You must see to hold a child in his arms and understand how their happiness is contagious. The little finger of the hand caressing the sky in which she bathed, drunk with ecstasy. If in a group you can not recognize because of his turban touareg, look for the most smiling or only a smile, it will be her. If in a group of worldly and beautiful women you think it is the least luminous, that it is the fairest of them all, but also more discreet. And that it is embodied in nature to the fullest. On the dunes or in the waves, camel or on horseback, dressed or undressed, his soul exults, his gaze enhances the Sun, while her face is full of light. There she smiled all that exists and passes to everything she touches his voluptuous warmth.

The charm matte rather than shiny brown bland blondes. Swarthy, discreet, monochromatic. But the features safe and mischievous look and give it an accomplice air of candor forgotten. The freshness of a source that feeds only the happiness of being. The lifeblood of a free electron. It forward, backward, behind her is grace.

Forgive me but I do not deserve you. You're too happy for me. And I've lost the habit. I've never been as happy as you are. You could wither you, to our great misfortune.