... oh fuck. I feel like my throat had been grated on a brick wall, as if my energy had been sold on Ebay and as if the rest of my body had just passed under a truck of garbage.
I do not want to be sick, pity.
I really want to go to the crop and have some fun and there, seriously, I feel like a big grub, I feel sick bitch. Yesterday was not like that, I was cold, I Filas means, but not like that. I tell myself that it's morning, that must be it.
PIS WHILE I WRITE THESE FEW LINES, THE PHONE RINGS. It is 7 h 55 ciborium. Dell on Tuesday. My second personality told him to go shit, but she sleeps FAQUE she said was: It's Saturday morning. Call again later. No, but ciborium.
Well, before I leave, I leave you 3 pages and 2 maps:
Here are some pictures taken of my friend Phil (www.lefoutoir.ca)
On, I'll take my coffee and go and try to find some energy.
Tomorrow demo at me:)
And on Monday back at work!
great weekend! XxX
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