How To Stop A Tree From Growing Acorns

Short

each piece of chicken carefully, absorbed in what poke my knife, as if the first vivisection by an angel. Take the fork to my mouth with parsimony. The napkin goes guarded the corners of my lips after every bite. And seat also. Hardly. Morosely. As weighing an intricate but subtle dance of flavors. And

.

The chicken is tasty and succulent everything he promised the boy. In fact, it is dry and slightly burnt. And damn salty.

But the farce is necessary. Around me eat and talk and laugh and mobs all of my group. All. Project techs. Project leaders. Teamleaders. Teamleaders managers. Managers. All the stupid hierarchical chain of titles in this stupid stupid company. And

.

not want to talk to the fat Spam on Ricardo Fort. I do not want to talk to Ramiro on Two and a Half Men . I do not want to talk to Mr. Charles K on discrepancies between TMZ and E! gossip about not know what movie star does not know what to vamp in do not know what series I do not know what channel. And

.

not serve. These lunch to boost morale and unite as a group do not work. Not me, anyway. It makes me feel eternal. They make me feel bored and annoyed Dorian Gray with my eternity and the minutiae of speaking mortals. I become a Sandman without curiosity. Not because my interests better. Not because my world is another. But because his feel do not belong. I can not breathe.

then I continue with the farce of absurd stretch to every bite. In pasearme his eyes and a smile talk stupid talk, never stopping somewhere. So I'll make it, I think. So the dishes removed soon. This will take the challenge of finding something to entertain myself while waiting for the bill. And then, walking slowly and looking around as if for the first time I see and breathe and play and smile. And

.

No, no, no. My knife dug into the chicken with the slowness of a Russian film. And the fat man says Spam.

"What silence Right?

My eyes glide toward him. We continue to urge that no such sentence. That annoying old phrase that is repeated in many foods. Why not enjoy the silence? Do we have to talk and gossip Fort TMZ and enterprise and hygienic actors who play vampires? Okay, this is not my world. I understand. These are the topics of conversation in this world. I understand. But is that here you can not be silent and be at ease at once? Now that I do not understand.

His lips open, showing me that it will. And also showing me is chewing meat.

"Obviously there is hunger .- says.

-O

no talk about .- say. And

.

Mainship 41 Grand Salon

Not Happy day

You look where you want to be.

My eyes are dragged along the floor. As I like to do. As did soldiers in trenches avoiding bullets. The seed sludge of steel and gunpowder is now excels carpet and office desks and chairs. The bullets are now escorted by smiling eyes accompanied by two words that encapsulate a minimum sentence lethal.

Happy day. And

. No, man. No. Not that. I'm not your friend. And you're not my friend. I do not think so. And you do not. So why the charade? Is that the hint of a different day in a sea of \u200b\u200bgray days is as equally to be vital to further accentuate the difference? And then to say hello on the day of his friend. And to fill with flowers on the day of spring. And on Valentine's Day. And greet each ferocious atheists at Christmas.

That the possibility of a single day make us forget the similarity and the tedium of the rest. To celebrate the anniversary and not the year. We live for the weekend. That we exist and not live.

I slumped in his chair, wounded. Several were able to intercept with Happy day, Happy Friends Day and even hummed Happy, happy in your day, my friend God bless you, you eat rotten bananas and you turn back. Even I changed the lyrics to make it more suitable to this day, very unhappy. About

everyone greets and kiss and give hugs. And I do not understand. I do not understand if you live as real. Or if you are aware of the hypocrisy. Perhaps you feel it. Perhaps sit down and be genuine and be me strange and confused. Without a doubt I feel I belong here, after all.

My eyes rest on the window. You look where you want to be. But until all 18 have to attend these square meters.

Spam Shadow of fat soaked me. She looks at me. I look at him. Smile. "Happy days .- says.

a deep breath. She looks at me. I look at him. - Giraffes! Pororo! Passepartout and watermelons, water slide and Peron .- I say, hugging him. Well, cuddling is an approximate term. Willow would be like trying to hug the dwarf planet Earth.

I look. I look at him. Squint eyes. It might work. He laughs. It worked.

"You're crazy, man.

pie-Chasquibums and Nietzsche. Tiles!

Leaves, laughing. I grab a post-it. I have to devise new ways beyond the Dadaist Crazy to avoid uncomfortable, I write.

hours that separate me from the 18 are several. And my dribbling, few. And I will tell. Happy days I say again and will be terrible.

says "Hello .- I the receptionist "Happy day.

most terrible examples tend to happen soon.

And yes.

is terrible. It is terrible in a way that had not contemplated. Terrible at a dose that eats me inside. Destroys me. Collapses on me everything, even the titanic urge to look at and say I do not want to be your friend, that is dawning in his eyes and his smile and meadows in spring in its perfume and hug and kiss and make love there. While devouring anything left standing only enough strength to smile as if to say "Happy day.

And it goes, happy, unaware of the profound chaos and devastation left in my chest. My eyes, behind her. After all, you look to where you want to be.

Purple-blue Dress Pants

Borders Fire

borders always intrigued me. These delicate lines are nothing and are too deep. Intermittent walls. The boundaries, like the invention of the New Year, arise from our inability to accept that nothing starts. That all continues.

Then divide. Divide and establish hierarchies and justify the walls and separating for every lie must be justified.

Mind and body, conscious and unconscious, spring, summer, autumn and winter, countries, ages, feelings, first and third worlds, sexual orientation and, of course, team leaders and employees.

Ramiro was promoted again. No raise, of course. No change of office. Even gave him a most charming mousepad. Nothing. It was just a pat on the back, as if to say: "Keep trying to be the biggest fish in this pond, boy.'re Going the right direction." Now is a kind of team leader of the team leaders. Quite sloppy. But he believed God. God believes.

to be beside me, his chest inflated, and views the office as if he were the owner of each chair, computer, pens, post-it, person cubicle. Take a sip of coffee machine that spits acid from here and sighs, as the cops in movies sigh Yankees in control path to prisoners while biting the side of the road.

cartographic Now the dots around me. A light and abysmal border separates me from this place. A wall in the form of headphones. Edith Piaf, that night with memories of dawn, sing. sing Non, rien de rien / Non, je ne regrette rien . And I am overcome the image of someone looking at your life, steeped in misery and happiness, saying that he does not regret anything. And I become certain that my case is not the same.

But here's the bottom line. The boundaries collapse. There are winters in the spring. There is love where there should be a professional relationship. There are children at fifty years. There hatred and discrimination in political correctness. There are office Edith Piaf. Ramiro's voice comes through the song. Immediately stop mp3, refusing to be author of such macabre duet.

And the wall fell. Falls with the truth that I am not immune to this office. There is no boundary between her and me. I can not hide in headphones and French songs and Irish and Norse legends.

I'm here.

If you want to live in Cambodia, find a way to go to Cambodia. If you want to spend the winter in India, I will somehow. If you desire to have tea in Russia, I'll take just. Because those are the borders that do not collapse: the excuses that are put oneself for not being where you want to do what he wants.

-.- On Wednesday complicated slides Ramiro while taking a sip of coffee, almost in a whisper, as if let loose a truth that the world is not ready to hear yet.

I look. She looks at me. Take another drink. Nodding, smiling. Unknown interrupt just to Edith Piaf. Know that if we lived seven hundred years ago such recklessness would have been punished by an ax in his head. Not only that. Keep pulling me talk. - Do you have something in mind for the weekend? - Proposes.

nod. I will not be incorporated into any possible plan.

"I do not. No idea what to do. Maybe go to the movies. But do not spend anything. I do not know.

guess it's appropriate shrugged. I do.

He points with his finger manager team leader of my monitor. - Are you coming along with the job? - Says notice if you need someone to put you to work side by side that this has to go out today or yes.

I look. She looks at me. The very turro also seeks the hack. I nod. Team leader-manager .- repair.

smiles proudly. - Did you see?

-Fri.

"I'm very happy, thanks.

- Did you ever imagine this?

"Something suspicious but thought it was so cool.

"No, no. Of boy. What did you want to be at this age when you were a kid?

I look. I look at him. The gleam in their eyes is another. "Astronaut. I wanted to be an astronaut. And also paleontologist. And a musician. And I wanted to travel and write about my adventures.

I look. I look at him. Take a sip of coffee. Behold the office. But it's not a policeman guarding prisoners biting off the route. There's no way. The wall between what is and what he wanted to be collapsed. The two variations of Ramiro look at each other, for the first time. And do not recognize.

Sacroiliac Joint Dysfunction Lump

hormonal

In recent days, evidently bought fireworks. To escort the triumph Argentina on Saturday.

began to be heard, timidly, hours later. Some, at least. Isolated. Dissociated. Wrapped in silence throughout the rest of Saturday and Sunday. Perhaps the lit only by purchasing them. Perhaps, to give encouragement even in failure. Or it might have on the order of celebrating other successes.

By then the joke of a nephew deserved a firecracker.

Having achieved applauded work with a straw.

approve a partial, with a ROMPEPORTONES. Get

department, with stars.

Every time a firework exploded in the quiet of the weekend, someone was happy.

But on Monday has arrived.

And with it, horns and exhaust pipes and motors and speakers and ringtones teamleaders requests and protests and comments about this scandal on television or on such other and horns and more horns. If someone is happy and not listen to him.

I wear headphones so knowing that any joy in the city is quiet. And I go in the elevator as he descends into hell.

And there she is.

Receptionist new. His first day.

I look. Smile. And greets me with the little hand. I go to her and give her a kiss. Her perfume. His eyes. Es His smile. His gaze. Sure. Probably did the same and with 63 employees who did not arrive as late as me. Surely there is nothing special in his greeting. But, anyway, the lunch will go down and buy me some chasquibums to announce my happiness. And that the city try to shut up if you dare.