Idle hands are instruments of the devil, that's a truth as a temple. Some of my friends who read this blog have asked me why, for a while now, just write. I could say I've been traveling, you might say I've gone out partying every night and have spent the day hangover, I have a lot of work, I have no time pa na, I could say been recruited by a top-secret government agency and spend my time fighting crime in dangerous terrorist missions, I've been hunting the "dull" and I have tied to my bed, becoming a man, I won the lotteryto Christmas and I have heels due to a tropical island, I hit my head against the bedside table doing tricks and lost the memory and the ability to type ...
The stark reality is that the cold makes me more rare and when not I get to cook for a regiment, I come forward to make things homey. Lately I've spent the dead hours perpetrating a monstrous scarf, while leading, eventually turned into a blanket to bed ... dioxide, some kind soul COME TO MY HOUSE AND REMOVE ME LANA!
Indeed, the adult equivalent to call "Mom, "Your teacher is giving a couple of kisses to your client to get to the office.
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