The other day I was thinking (which alone is an event of some significance, mica happen every day, eh).
No, I just told myself, of course you, my Lillo, you have a timing that is second to none. Ie.
Italy goes to the dogs (oh my God, in reality, the world goes to hell, but we are in the small, it should be) and what you do?
You put on their own.
Shit, a genius.
Then you angry if you have little to do.
Sometimes I would sue my parents because they could at least put all the pieces, when I did, or maybe you could forget about some less important part of the brain.
And after all that shooting inexorably:
a-count of your years
b-count of what you would wanted / should have done instead and no
c-count of your many failures and sensational
d-The finding that you have not yet arranged a dick in your life (but we try), you're shit, but above that there are more between seasons and
-occurring depression post-cognitive magnitude 5.6
f-The desire for redemption, as the best family film, you dig inside, making you think crazy things like, "from tomorrow you change "or even" the next time I drink less "g-
The sadness of knowing very well that this argument have already done millemila times and never ever led anywhere
So, why me angry? So not even worth it.
Spend your life to get drunk at night, pretending that everything goes perfectly, and stop breaking the bales with cosmic all'equilibrio menate Ste. Ecchecazzo.
do not.
I know you want to be alone is difficult, it takes time, patience and lots of ass, but I've never had any of those three things. And I feel bad, and I do not want to write, to train, to do anything.
Male, Mr. Anderson.
will pass?
Well, I'm not convinced mica.
meantime I console (according to prominent media sources) just knowing that the rest of the world is not better than me, enlightened professionals paid good money does not explain why the children are pulling away from the nest the parents later and later, but mainly because Venice is a beautiful place, but to live there do not talk.
Well, today is a great day of shit.
Kiss.
No, I just told myself, of course you, my Lillo, you have a timing that is second to none. Ie.
Italy goes to the dogs (oh my God, in reality, the world goes to hell, but we are in the small, it should be) and what you do?
You put on their own.
Shit, a genius.
Then you angry if you have little to do.
Sometimes I would sue my parents because they could at least put all the pieces, when I did, or maybe you could forget about some less important part of the brain.
And after all that shooting inexorably:
a-count of your years
b-count of what you would wanted / should have done instead and no
c-count of your many failures and sensational
d-The finding that you have not yet arranged a dick in your life (but we try), you're shit, but above that there are more between seasons and
-occurring depression post-cognitive magnitude 5.6
f-The desire for redemption, as the best family film, you dig inside, making you think crazy things like, "from tomorrow you change "or even" the next time I drink less "g-
The sadness of knowing very well that this argument have already done millemila times and never ever led anywhere
So, why me angry? So not even worth it.
Spend your life to get drunk at night, pretending that everything goes perfectly, and stop breaking the bales with cosmic all'equilibrio menate Ste. Ecchecazzo.
do not.
I know you want to be alone is difficult, it takes time, patience and lots of ass, but I've never had any of those three things. And I feel bad, and I do not want to write, to train, to do anything.
Male, Mr. Anderson.
will pass?
Well, I'm not convinced mica.
meantime I console (according to prominent media sources) just knowing that the rest of the world is not better than me, enlightened professionals paid good money does not explain why the children are pulling away from the nest the parents later and later, but mainly because Venice is a beautiful place, but to live there do not talk.
Well, today is a great day of shit.
Kiss.
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