African Americans Cold Sores

Access existentialist who, with some fortunately not be repeated

Today is one of those gave , as in the world comes up behind me, loosens his pants quietly and slowly proceeds to sodomize. On weekends, lately, I exist only to conceive thoughts of this kind, arrives on Friday and I have an overwhelming desire to get out, clowning around, talking in spurts, drinking as John Silver ... but suddenly I find that my life the plan to others so that, every time I think of something to do, somewhere to go, someone to be the highest level I turn back, I refuse to vote, I am forced to wait in line without complaining. Then I feel like an extra, as if my life were a part anecdotal, with little significance, an argument that I, for my condition, I can not access more than as a listener or comparsa . But not only that: as a helper, it seems that I have existence only when others give me, when, say, entering achievement in the flat part, however incidental it is my contribution, the main plot. Sometimes I see myself as the eternal friend, as always listening to and even allowed to give advice, based on an unlikely-and probably unprovable, experience, others, however, I believe to be the discordant element, one that, without really knowing why, enter the unease in the scene and makes the players tighten the pace in the wet pavement, but the fact is that most of the time, I just feel like an observer, which does nothing but be there, no one set of public Ely, if you have any intervention, will inevitably awkward and untimely.

This is how I perceive myself these days without name, which are nothing more than a number on the calendar but whose memory, nevertheless, emerges in the most unexpected times, updating a feeling, not overlooked most of the time-and even humiliated in some cases in which the fortunes auspicious sign, "no longer there, lurking in the affairs of the day diaa between job duties, including small talk, between the hopes remade at every step and returns to dismantle ... But hey, luckily for me, and I guess also for others, "I do not usually give an inch to the anguish, knowing what insatiable can become self-pity and the few and feeble weapons that, if necessary, would have, so that, at least I can survive unnoticed trance, bringing me to bed with a clear conscience and doing everything possible semitranquila to convince me that the next morning, I wake up being the hero of my own history.