my crisis strikes me the '30s, and whether, in a few months I celebrate my birthday number 30 and will come formally into the category "adult contemporary." Shawls.
the net I did not stay and I want to stay in the sweet sixteen, but every time I'm closer to accepting my ruquez. I tried to resist at any sign of my aging becomes noticeable without using one of the famous anti-wrinkle creams.
But recently, my postmodern attitude of authorities no longer recognizes or superstructures that constrain my choices. The fashion (read emotional) causes me deep feelings of rejection, heartburn and feel like sending them to the rubber. Still, as I slouched down to is that most (if not all) my idols: there is no turn on bands I do not think in any community or media. In short, they disappear absolute truths and there are great individual net from this trench.
seems we've become the cualitativez but not corn collide cualis me, hits me overcome the human experience to the universal laws. I am worth what others think. Any request for advice before I apply the first maxim of urbanism and I quote "is bastard, but as you see there." If you ask me my opinion, generally, I try to make a devastating argument that avoids the absurd extension of a debate that will not lead anywhere.
The main symptoms of this crisis are clear: my Broad Progressive Front (FAP), my aches hypochondriacs end up in hospital, the number of times a day I say "sir" and longing for my world youth was not slouch like now.
is true that no one teaches us the secrets of life and that time is an accomplice of wisdom. Now I dedicate these lines to my biggest and best example, my dad, who knew how to live fully, despite the passage of time, always had in mind to enjoy every moment as a child.
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