After nearly two years of occasional post on my blog different from, the commitments of various kinds, and the advent of Facebook, social network destroyer of every other kind of interrelationship in the rest of the Web, here I am to take care of my page, translated into another place, but always, essentially, her.
Basically, between Facebook and any other Blogs, there is not much difference, except that in the first update all status all the more real-time, you have the opportunity to express your preference without having to necessarily comment on, you have the option to upload tons of photos, there will be tagging anyone, even smear, even with the thought, the happiness of those who receive your kind attention, certainly struck by the malicious installation where it was photographed.
Therefore, waiting for my virtual wall is smeared with platitudes and banalities, regularly rated by close friends, supported by people who want less in the world (this seems to be just the beauty of Facebook), I enjoy the relaxing return to personal page, which is likely to take the features of the journal secret paper, in which I only access, not for restriction but for the personal will.
Yet people love to get the affairs of others, but the blog is now so obsolete. You really need to commit us to understand how much meddle business not yours, without seeking friendship or tag with an @ in front!
Facebook is certainly not the only thing that has changed in two years. Every time I reflect on how human nature is inherent in the irresistible urge to go back in time, change the actions, for the consequences, leaving it all up in those situations that we were so tight at the moment, we wanted to go to soon. If, however, had remained unchanged throughout, dull, flat, we pray to the gods in our budget, so that everything could change, evolve, grow.
Classic of the human species: to be perpetually looking for something that you can not have.
But still that bitter in the mouth, which smacks of sadness, abandonment, change too radical to swallow.
But sometimes it is useless to think of it, forcing his hand, trying to remedy. 'S useless, but I can not.
Last night I dreamed of being at the bus stop, at 14.30, with a hot and sultry weather, a big bag of potato chips made with the grill, and no pants.
That I will never say my superego? The complaint is not a good thing for my subconscious?
Maybe I should take a vacation ... Ah, yes! I am always on vacation! Blessed is the student life: S
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