'm here in front of the blue screen of the computer and think about what I write ... without being boring. it's hard not to be on days like these! why should I tell? The application may also remain unanswered ...
a blog should be a kind of virtual diary, no? to keep updated on the basis of ... what? why should I update? why should I keep it? I have a card, pretty, with a big bow (you should see it, a diary of love), which is the mold on a shelf of the desk, there are many times that I take in hand. it happens that you look lost and think for hours what it's for that bell'albumino with a bow, the pages in rice paper, dry leaves on the cover, before remembering that yes, it's my diary!
I've had a lot in the past, many were not like that now. the former had anti-theft padlock and keys attached double, as if someone was intending to violate the secrets of a little girl of 6, 7 years ... who knows what secrets would ... could be because the conditional use on those diaries there either ... so I wrote the padlock and the keys were absolutely useless. the only diary I ever wrote seriously lasted three years, which means that the frequency with which posavo pen to paper was zero. the poor little book has heard of cooked and raw. mostly moaning teen confessions ... mica red light. sometimes boring days writing reports or lists of my votes. that interesting life, you will think with acid irony. I think so too.
rileggessi happened to him even when he was in service, the diary. I laughed at times like crazy, other times I was ashamed by itself, others thought I had absolutely right or absolutely wrong to have. Sometimes I think I could have simply made up things to write, I would have excited a little bit more and maybe one day my wonderful diary could have been given to the press and become a best seller ... but please ... and if a tomorrow, a hundred years and whistles (I make account to live very, very long ...) with the brain dall'Alzheimer eaten, I had to reread my 'secrets' and discovered that he faced many adventures of this world, and we had believed? I would go around telling one thousand idiocies. some may argue that a healthy pinch of insanity is always a dear great-grandmother in sympathy, but I do not think it's true ...
in short, I always told the truth to my diary, despite the possibility of cheating, with a confidant of paper, is offered on a silver platter. a secret diary has one and the same author, which tells the events from his own point of view. spares no reviews. claims to be victim when maybe it's a petty murderer. I admit that I too have succumbed to the seduction of the victim, but that taste test, if our confidant have no voice to compatible? ... is paper admits to not having saved up for review and comments ... very nice ... but a diary is secret: those interested will have to go over my dead body! but I kept a diary more than anything to psychoanalyze myself and my behavior. not that he eventually had some noteworthy result ... but I gained the ability to draw a fairly accurate profile about me. and the portrait that emerges is by no means flattering. with myself are always very unkind ...
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