Curriculum Vitae Beauty Therapist

obvious, but maybe not.

Maroni Fried Green. At 9:00 in the morning.

On the table there is a new issue of the magazine with which I am working. As soon as I leave open the brackets, I will infumi the brain and I can not see. The member who had read it before me, covered with croissant and cappuccino trying to mediate the hot climate. With the cap in one hand and croissant in the other, I begin to meditate revenge. I can not do anything else. Leave mail in bursts. My thirst for revenge is not quenched, but I have to blanch them, so I decided to do a tour of the beautician. The method of the drives out, always works. Replace thoughts with annoying pain to eradicate. What better way to cool the blood, if do not gossip and talk about anything to the sound of tearing the net and decided that with the agitation also take away layers of skin. Therapeutic, I swear, better than sitting by a shrink. And then nothing, I preclude putting the cream but my skin has something to fish that I do not understand and is so determined to peel like crazy. The forced substitution of unhappy thoughts with useless thoughts and practice to be explored.

When I get home, glabrous and satisfied, regardless of the shit that there might be around 12 o'clock, and the frog just woke up and the member 14 should go away. The fridge is crying, because I have been shopping and I do not know when I can, because a little 'I forget, a bit 'and annoys me a bit' I do not find the right time. In most desperately wanted chef, to cook because I want to, zero.

There is a carrot, ugly and lean, which tells me: "cucinami, cucinami, cucinami please do not leave me to rot in here." Next there is a zucchini, younger, but on the same street of the sunset and a can of tomato in half, that if I do not throw it away out today. Stop. Browse the freezer and digging up a box of peas. I turned the room with the nice green beads frozen, but I was too sorry for the carrot that I begged for mercy and her friend zucchini. Strength and courage.

Nothing I have picked out of the fridge, the vegetables spinsters, I washed and made into small pieces, small, small, and put together a handful of peas and a tiny peak in a potato chip nice pan from the golden background of olive oil. After a minute I thought I could feel a warm in there and poured a glass of water. The vegetables to soak, heated in the whirlpool have made friends and have invented a fantastic soup easy. The smell was good only had a little bronzer, too prone to white, so the half can of tomato sauce was invited the beach party and has given an unexpected final touch of respect. Combined with the pasta lunch, a little 'nerds, it was good, but most of all I turned a 15-minute clock.

Why this post? No, only the clearest proof that even when it seems that there's nothing left to do, that the way forward seems to be one, if you look at the goods and sharp wit, an alternative is always the obvious.

Night people.

Song: Talking Heads - Sax & Violins