P90x Week By Week Phase Charts

I look at the phone and I do not. "Hey, hello Ange!" Said the voice. No one calls me more angel, for almost fifteen years. Just the tone, a family joke and suddenly there I was Passatoland, which is not a place where no one has invented the word "smooth", thus elevating the legions of vegetables and legumes, but a parallel dimension, where things are exactly as remembered. Niceties: an answer exchange where idle glissando on the details, suspicious. Then the question: mica I remember the exact day he died my father? No, not the atmosphere (a nice sunny day), nor what I was doing (I read a comic book in my room, Master of Kung Fu Shang Ki), or what I felt at that moment (nothing), but its date exact. There may be a reason for a request like that, I wonder? Can. He wants to make the horoscope at the time when my father died. Check where the light playing millions of years before by groups of stars, which have meanwhile continued to move and perhaps even today there are more, it points in that day than that of the constellations, due to the precession of the equinoxes, not at all where we think they are, and what effect all this can possibly have had on the suicide of a man who, in fact, has never known. For this reason, calls me, and if there is a better definition of madness, I do not know. This should be the first surprise, but the first surprise is that no, actually I do not remember. I remember the month and year, of course, and until recently I could not tell the day. Today I am confused, I think, extrapolate. It 's normal now I am twenty years, he says. No, it has been nearly thirty, I say, and behind the breath, in the glare of the same voice I guess routine ever, the same room, pulled out two cigarettes pack of Camels and every day put in the round tin cans, the ritual useless, needlessly perpetuated. And under the jar the same table, sofa, furniture ever. A Passatoland does not move a leaf, and for a moment think that time flows differently for us. But is not the time. E 'movement. There are those who live like a hummingbird, who as a quartz. Total absence of movement, deep fear that prevents any change, any transformation. How long, he says. Yeah. A Passatoland is business as usual. In the meantime I'm in love, outta love, in love again, I had children, changed jobs, houses, cars, indulged passions, as unlikely places, cherished dreams, unexpected bits and just took an unexpected touch, hurt, buried friends, I am cut holiday sudden, remnants of joy and nights of anguish, shelters soft, beautiful eyes met and tried to keep open the mine. How much time has passed, since I saved your life? Ten years, he says. No regrets. Not one.