Sunday, March 18, 2012

tell a friend pet dies ... and I almost

Thus the impending redundancy. Well, it's nice. Within six months, I ended a relationship of 14 years and I learned that I lose my job paid well over 10 years, the two poles of my adult life proves to be as unstable as ate some bread sticks.

In my most lucid moments, I say that the loss of my job is probably a good thing. I do not like, and 10 years is a time to do something that you dislike. Unfortunately, I have many good times at this point, and the long term seems far away. I can only obsessively cleaning the house (which is useless and exhausting, but I can not think of anything else), tossed by the waves of fear, anger and shame.

yet there is something terribly humiliating to lose his job, and I feel like it was my fault. Well, it's my fault, really. My attention was the ball in the last two years. It is unfortunate that they have achieved today, and I know that nothing is going to pay so much for so little effort again.

To encourage me, I visit a friend for a quiet weekend in the country. Within 12 hours of arrival, I have a terrible accident that leaves me in A & E for a day and my dear friend dead animals. This is a long history and at least partly my fault. I'm lucky, though. There's a hole two minutes in my memory, in which a few inches here or there could have died or left me paralyzed. Instead, I'm fine - deeply shaken and bruised, but okay. I feel guilty and devastated by my friend who is very friendly and helpful, and shakes my apologies unhappy with a grace uncommon.

After hampered home, I called to ask if X will keep children from all other nights, because you can barely move, let alone care for them. I explain why. This is the first person I told. He agrees and asks me if I'm wrong, but it is quite distant, detached, not to run back to check on me. Why would I? There is a strong reminder that I am - voluntarily - on my own

In this picture, an angel in a frankly pathetic Ministry bike red mailbox. The bell rings first steps on the second night and I limped up the stairs to open the door. It is my particular friend formidable Russian, Zuzana, unbuttoning his red bag purchases helmet match in hand. She looks beautiful, always in work clothes, and I realize I'm wearing gray pants and a dirty shirt. The bruises that cover half of my face disappeared sickly yellow-green.

"I did not say he was coming because I knew you'd say no," she says, and makes me a cup of tea and put me on the couch. "The bed earlier," she said, with feigned severity.
Then he goes to the kitchen with her bag and begins to prepare dinner. It maintains a constant flow cat as she cooks, I did not expect to meet. When food is ready, it seems that everything I eat, and I spilled a glass of white wine only. I feel like a kid, but give with gratitude. I am very grateful, indeed, he could not cry. While eating, going back to the kitchen and starts making ratatouille.


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