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The unlikely reunion [touch] (3) The reunion

She feels her eyes clear even before he opened the door. Few seconds, leaning out the window, she threw the key to the door below. He looked up the mischievous look, his hand outstretched. And there under the street lamp, Maxime and his smile to make you weep with emotion. It's silly, damn it to the scene of the smile again. Mentally, as he has already entered the hallway, she sees him again get serious air searching for her house number. And then, the image is accelerating, he lifts his head and sourit. Un léger effleurement, elle referme la fenêtre et se précipite dans le dédale de couloirs pour lui ouvrir la porte d'en haut. Le sourire s'est évanoui, mais c'est pire. L'instant est presque grave. Elle se ressaisit, le laisse entrer.
Le thé est brûlant.
...
Mathilda est tendue. Elle sait, elle sent qu'à un moment ou à un autre il va s'arrêter de parler. Il laissera le silence envahir la pièce jusqu'à tendre les murs. Il lui prendra la main, ou bien se lèvera et s'approchera. Elle n'aimera pas ce moment là. Elle est déjà trop fragile, répandue sur l'assise de sa chaise. Elle s'imagine. Pourtant encore droite, le geste gracile, the voice a little low and safe. But his expression? His eyes should betray her grave. Indeed, it is already there, standing before her. The gaze is troubled, but his hand is soft. He is the face. In his head it was panic. Flee, to cry with emotion as strangles or quickly compose and improvise, as she learned to do it, "the femme fatale." She has no time to choose. It will take the lead, so does its survival time. The
moment.
Their mouths are, their bodies are mixed with astonishing mastery, intimacy, complicity immediate ... They will
pas l'amour. Ce garçon là, lit dans ses pensées enfouies, archaïques. Il est tard, le énième thé est brûlant. Elle l'invite à dormir près d'elle. Elle n'a pas besoin de préciser. Il s'endort.
Elle retrouve enfin le cours de ses pensées. Une étrange lumière de nuit nimbe la chambre. Elle le regarde émue. Que lui arrive-t-il ? Elle est submergée.
Elle s'écarte un peu. Il gémit et commence à trembler légèrement. Qu'a-t-il ? Elle touche son front, il est trempé de sueur. Il gémit toujours. C'en est presque inquiétant. Elle lui caresse les cheveux. Il se redresse brusquement et lui dit la voix enrayée : "j'ai rêvé que je tenais mon enfant dans les bras et qu'il m'échappait, me glissait des mains, c'était affreux !"Il retombe sur l'oreiller et se rendort alors que Mathilda lançait déjà une ébauche d'interprétation. Elle reste étonnée et dubitative. Il se remet à trembler. Elle pose une main rassurante sur son épaule, il se tourne et s'enroule à elle, s'apaise et reprend une respiration lente et profonde.
Mathilda ne peut plus bouger, elle n'a pas eu le temps de prendre une position confortable. Son bras commence à "mourir". Elle tente de se dégager, il s'accroche un peu plus. Elle le garde là au creux, résignée. Elle ne s'endort pas. Entre deux eaux, it opens. He enters, he enters. She falls asleep within minutes
early morning. Already the sky is tinged with pink. She wakes with a start, he said last night he had to leave at 7.30 to the art gallery. It is 7.15. She tries to wake him. Impossible. It opens and closes one eye.
Mathilda gets up and make coffee. It passes into the bathroom to wash his teeth, looks. She looks mornings that go well. Hair tousled to perfection, rings pretty. My faith, no need to do more. Again she tried to wake him. He growls. She reminds him that he should already be gone, but after all, she cares. He deigns to open his eyes. She sits on the bed in a bathrobe. He offers a smile while asleep, and said: "What you're beautiful morning" ...
Slowly, he takes his time. He drinks coffee with her, light and relaxed. Mathilda has a heavy heart the idea that it goes away. She did not want to. She wants to stop time. She already anticipates a "night-night." She recounts her strange behavior at night. He was surprised, he does not remember.
He hugs, kisses and leaves. She leans on the balcony. He smiled. He's gone. Mathilda
almost furiously wipes her eyes misted. Shit, but what is this devastating emotion. This is nonsense! The impression that he snatched from a song.

to follow ...

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unlikely [the meeting] (2)

It was agreed that Mathilda and the young man found the theater in the company of a friend of hers. The framework is sufficiently neutral and allow time to observe Mathilda "the character".
She asks him to send a picture to be able to recognize. The photo sent to him evokes nothing. A young man neither beautiful nor ugly. The photo is not of good quality, against the light darkens the face. In short, whatever. His name Maxim.
Carolina advanced to the wicket to get the tickets. Mathilda waits outside the entrance Maxime. It happens. She only sees her smile. A smile to die for. Emotion came out of nowhere came over. That smile and aquamarine eyes of the young man swept past her resistance. His intuition, very fine usually do not tell him. No voiceover, no warning sign. Only his conflicting emotions. This upheaval was absolutely unspeakable not included in the program. Mathilda is destabilized. This boy moves and instantly attracts more than is reasonable.
Throughout the play, is fighting to remove Mathilda the pervasive presence that gives him Maxime at his side. Unable to concentrate on the show. They agree to meet again the next evening to drink tea in a place she loves. A coffee-brac. In this place, everything is for sale. The cup which we drink, to the chair in which sits comfortably. The scenery is picturesque and varied styles all mixed together.
She chose a dark red sofa in gilt frames. An art deco lamp emits a soft light, and particularly enchanting. It's like entering a novel in the middle of the story. However, she does not remember the beginning. But instinctively she is not lost. She knows, already recognized in his gestures, in attitudes, in his strange way of looking at it. She drowns in confidence in her eyes the color of water. It melts into a smile. The discussion is fluid, warm atmosphere. The attraction deliciously flat all around them, without evocative gesture. May be a similarity in posture, they bend and move closer together, at times.
It is late, the café is closing. He brings her home to his car, parked two blocks away. At the beginning of March, the cold is still hot. She shudders. Naturally, he takes her by the shoulders, and grant its not his.
They leave the troubled look. Their hands shake, shake their mouths, they do not kiss.

to follow ...

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And if that were true? The unlikely reunion (1)

The story begins 24 August 0079, just after AD, all the way down to Pompeii. Then they went about peacefully, some fields, some other village, the ground began to rumble. The sky to cover. A fine gray dust permeates the atmosphere.
She infiltrated around their eyes, their mouths and cry arose. Panic, terror. The boy rushed into the arms of his mother. She covered her shawl and looked desperately for a place to hide. The panic took possession of the whole village. Men, women, children, elderly, animals running around. The horror that seized them, destroy them all at once!
terra Lisa with her son under an arch. She tried to reassure him of his voice hoarse. They suffocated. In a desperate cry, Lisa recalled all its own. The characters in his life.
Not far away, the same panic, the same call ripped, her husband, her mother, brother, sister, her first heartache and others. All in unison, they lived their last moments se rejoignant dans leurs cris ensevelis.

Mille neuf cents vingts six ans plus tard Mathilda tapote sur son clavier. Elle vient de rompre avec son amant, après plusieurs années de passion destructrice. Une collègue de travail lui conseille de s'inscrire sur un site de rencontre pour tenter de tourner la page. Dubitative, elle joue le jeu. C'est avec une grande pudeur et surtout un grand désarroi qu'elle découvre le fameux catalogue. Elle assiste à la marchandisation de la rencontre amoureuse. Qui lui apparaît comme une banale prestation de consommation courante à durée limitée. Le délai de péremption étant fixé à quelques semaines. Ne parlons pas de la débilité des échanges riddled with spelling errors and punctuated oki lol. This is unacceptable.
One evening, tired of this lost time in search of ... What? A faceless man arrives on her page. He writing enchanting lace. Under the spell, she is letting the time of an evening. A beautiful exchange crosses his screen, touch up emotionally. Gosh! How is it possible to be moved at this point behind a screen? Later, she watches her profile. Eight years younger than she, he wants children, his announcement is a bit nebulous .. In short, it does not. She zaps. The man keeps coming back. It sends mails. He wants to talk on the phone. This is another 'thing. She gives in, taking care to hide his number. She does not like his voice. A young voice and slight, without a body. However, the discussion is fluid and it is several hours later she hangs up. He wants to meet her, she refuses. He insists. She resists. He returned some time later, reiterates. Her writing, always so beautiful. After all, why not? Just meeting the character. It is grown, is a contemporary art gallery (she checked out of prudence).
Twice she cancels at the last minute appointments with him. It is strength for no reason. A sort ill-defined anxiety, a strange feeling.

to follow ...

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Attempted repression in Arles Postmen

Suite au conflit de mai 2009, et au soi-disant "blocage des camions de courrier", La Poste continue sa politique d'intimidation et de répression. Elle porte complaint.

Bruno Leclerc, secretary of the CGT Arles CDIS is summoned to the police Tuesday morning at 9:15. Postal workers

Arles CDIS accompany the mass, to show they do not intimidate or punish leave.

should know that this incident has already been held during the conflict in chambers on May 15, where the judge explicitly said that at no time the mail was prevented from entering the center.

can see Judgement at


http://vuzit.com/view/14u7


It would be nice if the factors are not the only day.

For a history of daily conflict


http://www.postiers.net/luttes-f6/arles-cdis-preavis-de-greve-illimitee-t1144.htm?highlight=arles

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it's done!

I was comfortably settled in my little life before. Dreamer at will, I oscillate between work, friends, family and lover. Then muted watched my desire to be a nurse. I started to take the examination at age 25. Then at 26 and 28. I succeeded, but still on the waiting list. Wait. Sometimes dubious, sometimes passionately. I made babies, I pretended to get married. I quickly divorced. I let my children grow up. More very sure I courage. I got kicked in the Q. Cause still I dream. But what finally
! What are you waiting for! Yeah, I do not believe anymore. I'm afraid. I live. I'm happy in my life.
fuck m. ! But we believed there! What are you doing standing there! I plant a dream. I watch him grow without roots.
And then one day, I have 40 years. My plants are pretty, very decorative. I'm fine, everything is fine. I also plant lover. Like a vacuum, but available. I began writing on a "tracer everything." Notebooks scattered. Stories, dreams.
In fourth gear, I send my 6th entry the contest. Last day, an act almost missed. Hands in pockets, I'm going.
Damn, I received!
Whirlwind! Gone are the dreams, the quiet life and disorderly as I like. Everyone will be pushed around. Yes, I get a bit tight (the word is small). In the first year I met a love between two partials. Somehow it's still there. I smile. It does not even know that I am (I was) a woman is soft, quiet and peaceful.
But maybe that peace was only a leak, a varnish surface? Who am I today? I feel transformed. What did I do? A challenge. A challenge personnel, mais aussi un défi partagé. Oui, je le partage avec mes enfants, ma Maman et ma soeur et bien sûr mes amis. J'ai l'impression d'avoir consolidé quelque chose de vital. Je me sens si heureuse aujourd'hui. Je les sens si fiers de moi ! "tain vé", j'en pleure ... Oupss, émotion ...
Je suis infirmière. Riche de mon expérience de 20 ans. Je ne suis pas hésitante une seule minute. Je ressens une sorte d'exaltation, une énergie stimulante. Comme si j'allais pouvoir exercer à ma juste valeur tout ce pour quoi je suis faite. C'est bête, j'ai toujours donné le meilleur de moi même, et je me suis toujours sentie reconnue pour cela. Mais là, ce n'est not the same. Here it is as if I had the right, legitimacy.
I want to do great things, I am gnaque!

I would like to thank several people who are dear to me. Mary Lou and Lucas, my children who supported me almost seriously, invested and worried. This is my pretty Mary Lou, who the day before I made me revise my Initial steps of care with considerable interest. The prize goes to
Krish, my heart big brother, who was hit for 3 years all my partial revisions. I decided to copy my diploma with his name next to mine.
But there's also my Emilie class girlfriend, sitting side by side for 3 years, accomplices and solidarity for all. Of course my
Arf! So, he never cracked before my palpable tension in everyday life, always supported me and encouraged, he was there yesterday to open up her arms in the billboard when I laughed, cried all mixed.
But again, my friends, Laule (my dear friend), Isa (my favorite nurse), Noun (my darling always), Annick (my friend found) and Gil Sylvia (my mischievous friends and tornadoes) Remi (my boyfriend on the street) and Michele (the instigator of kicking the Q) and other ... My virtual friends almost equally present than those of real life ...
And finally, My mom and my little sister Valerie. Both the pillars of my life. Inseparable from all three, bound by unconditional love, a love of life. The true wealth of heart and spirit, sharing of knowledge and skills, a trio sealed against all odds. I owe my success and be who I am ...
Well, who else? My hospital anyway, where I paid all this time to stay seated on my Q to school ... Some teachers and encouraging investment ... And of course, countless health professionals with whom I learned all the technique and theory with a lot of fun ....
Well, if I forgot someone, you say ... My head in celebration.

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What might bother me today?

I am peacefully installed in my faux wicker chair. I think about my next deep thought. In my view, it would be a deep thought about the time it takes the time to elapse. Or rather, about the time that tends to take time. With an accessory question, what time is it? I still prances. The time is too long. I am impatient.

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Argh!

The sky is fall with a pale yellow circle. I look through my list of blog an eye on the screen, the other erring on the garden. The splint on my arm, what can I do?
The dishwasher is running. My morale touches the carpet. This (the carpet) has been abandoned for some time. The vacuum of space has not moved since, say, no, I dare not say.
I would not say I'm depressed. I'm beat-up. I graduated from my degree in brilliantly, but I have not had time to realize it. Pressure constant during these three and a half dropped, but did not know where to ask. After my internship in the Emergency and even after the last, in Psychiatry, I was motivated by a joy that swarmed with projects, challenges. And here I am the arm against your body as a shield. A failed act?
Eight days post geriatric care worker and I'm hurt. Injured ego? Injury in the crack? Injury that could have been avoided if senior people heard me when I said that my shoulder was weak and I was not able to do those three weeks in AS on the area of geriatrics. Three short weeks "at risk" pending the results of the ED I proposed an alternative : Stay where you shrink is not handling sick. No answer. The die was cast.
And there, I feel diminished, to be incorrect. On the flip side of all my projects. Pawns on a chess board reversed. Strategies escape me, my insight and thoughts that go into a spin.
I do not know what will happen to me. Putting my "handicap" in front for me to "protect" I might be a little hot date on uninteresting posts, such consultations or I do not know what.
This is "castration" of motivation, skills recognized in other sectors.
This afternoon, I will try to stir heaven and earth in the offices of right-thinking people (and especially cramped in their seats well padded), gesticulating with my left arm!

continued ...

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The snake has struggled to pass, but the peacock spreads its tail.

In the genus "I have a feeling that I've pulled the rug under the feet while I walked over" ... Probably a bad joke ... I'm not you / or you, since last Monday. Extremely happy to have spent my ED in very good conditions, with the end p'tite sentence that says "you can go home quiet or very quiet" ... Phew!
I have not had much time to savor the pleasure. Few hours after I received the phone call that lead! You are expected Monday morning in gerontology at 8! And here I am
since Monday without status, a sort of in-between while awaiting the results of the ED they have found nothing better than to bring me back to the source. They said that I may be forgotten in three and a half years of study, how a toilet or changing ... No, no! I have not forgotten! Harsh reality! I have nothing against the elderly, far away. But I have 24 years of comfort care. I busted a shoulder in passing (and three calcified tendinitis, unhealed, of course). And I wanted to be at the front, to emergencies. I have not taken my education to 40 years to nurse again "comfort". I am furious! I rant!
Well, it was early days. I did not cash. Today, well, my character has kindly taken over. Wherever I am, whatever I do, I'll do well. For a year (the deal) I am a nurse in geriatrics.
Everything is not black. The center is on a hill with a magnificent park. The lounge opens onto a terrace with trees and flowers. break (well deserved) is almost idyllic. You can communicate with squirrels and peacocks. Can soliloquer paisiblement.

L'équipe est jeune et dynamique. Ils m'ont très bien accueillie. Le cadre s'est montré compréhensif et m'a encouragée. Je ne lui ai pas caché en arrivant ma terrible déception. Et puis hier, j'ai vu mon nom sur l'organigramme de Décembre (celui des infirmières). Enfin !!
Je n'ai pas encore les résultats, mais j'y crois !

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"The Valley" at the Theatre de la Cite Universitaire

I have the honor of being the godfather of a beautiful adventure that will take off tonight at the Theatre de la Cité Universitaire, which will be held at 20:00 on Friday and Saturday 13, 14 and 20 and 21 November: he is part Le Vallon by Agatha Christie, adapted and directed by Frederic Series. In addition to attending an excellent amateur theater, those who purchase tickets help raise funds for the Foundation of the University Institute of Cardiology and Pneumology of Quebec. It seems important to contribute to this initiative would do with my presence, my advice and my enthusiasm, knowing how those who get involved throughout the year do so with passion and fervor. I wish all this great team a big SHIT!

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A J-1 of FROM

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month of October is certainly not perfect month to enjoy warm, sunny holiday. But what to do. Now I have time to bask in the sun, since the space Recognition Trident is over, I do not perceive that the gray from the outside. The shutters slam on the front of my little house as if it shivered itself and leaves piles of snow announce those who will soon cover our cold country. Nevertheless, I took long breaths after this crazy year that, frankly, seemed not to be successful.

Since autumn 2008: Elvire Jouvet 40 , tour Cyrano de Bergerac, the resumption of PSYCHOMATON and adventure Hedda Gabler followed The descent into the Asylum Purity , then the Dumb and staging A family resemblance , resumption of Life and Death of King lame and ultimately creating Recognition . Nomenclature needed to explain the state of gentle euphoria that accompanies these few weeks off. A state that does not last long because the lack will be felt sooner or later, this visceral need to go back on stage again to feel the adrenaline rush that accompanies each unique stage presence.

Meanwhile, I "make the text" as they say. I learn the role of Henry IV that I will defend to the theater in January of Trident in a staging by Marie Gignac: balancing role juggling ballet replicas such as capers, leaping over several waves of emotional state often contradictory. Madness? Extra-lucidity? Again, a huge interpretive challenge that I hope a speedy finalization. You're all invited, it goes without saying.

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There are at least 20 years

Mes vingt trois ans n'ont pas grand intérêt. Rien de transcendant à l'horizon. Je quittais Brad Pitt, qui n'avait de Brad, que la tête. C'est déjà pas si mal. Sinon, il squatting my flat for a year already. It had invaded my home with his pretty face, his guitar, his acoustic guitar, folk guitar (signed "I do not remember who). There was also his bass, the drums, his harmonica and he was dragging his carcass from here to there in MY thirty square meters. When I came home from the hospital, there were often one or two guys at him sprawled here and there in an atmosphere of Nirvana. Cooool! I just had to swoop me or not. It was not.
What was I doing there? Or rather, what is he doing there, I emptied the fridge without scruple, to believe in them without ask me my opinion, to me play mandolin. And yes, it's because the mandolin! I always had a weakness for the souls of artists (poor and without a collar is preferred).
short, I left Brad, a beautiful gray and very cold morning in January. A little surprised, he asked where he would go. His pitiful with all his gear on the instrumental level, has almost made me crack. Your mother! I brought you as it rains, you do not have a car that your friends have no car, having a car accessory is ... And also incidentally, a job and an apartment.
I backcrossing a month later. I had not. I cracked. Oh, just a night that's all. A month and a half later, I found that my periods were a bit slow to come. I had not counted. Her mother accompanied me to the clinic before the cavalier attitude of his son, the learner, fled nowhere. I loved his mother. A kind Fanny Ardant, married to a wealthy industrialist. No worries Brad.
So I continued my twenty third year, chugging along, looking for love. Raoul? No, he chose Claire. I did a little test with Jean Louis. Sos! He wanted to lock me in its huts. Fortunately, a pretty young woman arrived. Tan Dam! But then, I have already twenty four years!

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When happiness is in pre

A place called Piss-wolf in the Lot side St Cere. Yes there is also a St Cere in the Lot. A cottage where I spent my summer vacation, inaccessible by car. So off we climbed up there, a place where I'm afraid at night there are wolves. I'm fifteen and a half. Yes, half the account.
Underwood, near steep, twisting river, log cabins, cottages stone waterfall angelic, cows, goats ... There is no running water at the lodge, while a source is diverted. A kitchen for la vaisselle, un coin douche (glacée). Il n'y a pas de rideaux aux fenêtres.
Le gîte accueille les randonneurs perdus, les randonneurs à cheval, les randonneurs tout court. Là, une troupe de théâtre a fait escale. Le Monsieur des lieux est un ami de ma mère. Nous sommes invitées. Il a deux fils. Romain, quinze ans, Yes ! Un autre de onze ans, ça tombe bien, ma soeur a onze ans aussi. C'est comme ci, tous les éléments étaient réunis pour passer de belles vacances.
Le rythme est lent et idéal. Le temps clément. L'herbe est verte. Des plantations suspectes ci et là ne nous intriguent même pas. Elles sont jolies dans le décor. Je glisse serrated leaf in my diary.
Intimacy is shared here. That peace and love to Piss-wolf.
One morning, Romain and me We walk all the way down the meadow, along the river twisted. Hand in hand, young and beautiful, carefree and in love. What was our astonishment (still) to catch three young naked people, a girl and two boys two decades, standing there on a flat rock in the process of washing. Wash, um ... The two boys soaping the girl slowly and sensuality. They kiss ...
Romain and I remain hidden, crouching behind a bush. Us, Dizzy. Well Sure, we do not lose a crumb of this fascinating spectacle. Young people are drying in the sun and back to their log cabin up there in the whole mountain. Neither one nor two, we run the search and shower tahiti we play Adam and Eve on the rocks.
Desire is at its peak. Naked and excited we are seeking a quiet and well hidden. A minute and a half later, the case is over. The Roman looks like a smug lokoum is his first time. Me, a tad disappointed (not bad), I measure the gap between the idea that I was "making love" and this act so easy, so short, without an ounce of orgasm as idealized. Ah! Right? I took more pleasure in watching the previous scene to enter the scene ...
We did a little better later, but again, it was the unusual places where the urge took us who were in the titillating story ...
I remember something I said at the time: "I'm terribly disappointed that the books and films on the subject lie "....

break time of a suspended Tag .
I would challenge Luna Maia, Anna , Cat ' Jack Laule, Man Sleeping And everyone sings it .... Because "first time" ... Lalalalalala .... And Mr
Snake! !

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on key corridors

[a DE in passing]

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Chronicles

The emergency department is an unusual place, a place called in the hospital, a place open the City. A form of intersection hospital. A place like a scene. A scene in which the curtain never closes. A scene where three shots rang incessantly. It is packed with extras, actors in spite of themselves. Actors who never repeat, and yet the tragedy repeated indefinitely, the same scenes of life, the challenge of destiny. Daily tragedies, human. But where did Dr. House? I did not see.

is 18.36. A quarter of an hour break. I pass the glass doors and breathe some fresh air. Finally, I drink my coffee from 13.30. It was cold, I did warm . Yuck, I do not like reheated coffee, but this one, it's delicious. The cigarette that goes with it, makes me dizzy. (Mr Snake, do not give me a lecture, j'ai rendez vous en addicto, juste après l'obtention de mon DE. ) Je suis claquée. 58 entrées en 5h. Je suis toute molle tout d'un coup. Je m'assois sur un rebord de misère un peu crado, avec un espèce de cendrier de misère lui aussi, tout aussi crado, où se mêlent gobelets en plastique, papiers de bonbons, paquets vides de chips et autres madeleines à deux euros les six. L'endroit est tout simplement merveilleux. Je pense 5 minutes à mon chéri, qui n'est plus mon chéri, mais toujours mon chéri. Rien, un instant de nostalgie. J'observe mon reflet dans la vitre d'en face. Mes cheveux sont un peu en bataille, ma tenue plus aussi impeccable. Des cernes de fatigue weigh down my face but I am deeply proud to be there. I'm in my element.

18.53, I got up, threw my cup, and returns the glass doors in the other direction. Here we go again! Head to the grindstone. Five new people in the room "sort". All the infusion, the bilanter, the Constanta, ask the 1st diagnosis, assess, reassure them, monitor them and direct them to the radio, scan, or "déchoc" ... But it's not as simple. Such, in a vomit bag, hello Dr. to add an anti emetic, such is not calmed by the prescribed painkiller, hello to Dr. morphine titration. This means absolutely have to go to reassure his wife waiting in the waiting room. Another restless, another desaturates, electro Mr Heart shows several extrasystoles which may well go on fibrillation! No, nothing is simple here! At any moment everything can go on a lollipop! My level of alertness is at its peak times, the adrenaline is not only in p'tites bulbs, but now flowing in my veins at full speed.

Let me tell you that when I'm out of here, the car returns home alone. I'm drained. But so pleased to have participated in "saving lives" ... And that, in his job, it's great. That balancing. I spontaneously into perspective on my little daily troubles ... When I am there, I forget almost everything, I'm catching up later, then it wilts again as soon as I put on my outfit ...

Well, now, after two months of training here, I know that's where I want to work. There, in front in the agitation, the risk spills. I am firmly set in my "fang's red." My skills have been recognized, both human and technical and theoretical. Full speed ahead!

Monday, I attack my last course (psychiatry, closed area). It is there that I spend mon diplôme d'Etat. Trois ans et demi d'études sous pression continue ou presque. Trois ans et demi d'une vie agitée, bouleversée, mais bien remplie. Un grand merci à tous les gens qui m'entourent et m'accompagnent.

Quelqu'un veut il que je le perfuse ?

Et mon pull ? Toujours à l'envers... Mais doux et chaud.

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referendum against the privatization of La Poste can do better!

A committee against the privatization of the Post Office was established at Arles, and calls to participate in the national referendum on the initiative of a myriad of political parties, unions and associations. It will take place in Arles on Saturday, October 3 in the market.

That workers expressed itself poses no problem, quite the contrary. The success of this initiative could perhaps serve lever to go further. One can always dream, when you see the list of signatories of the Call to the Post (http://appelpourlaposte.fr/spip.php?article77).
It should ask themselves some questions.

participation of the Socialist Party and other parties in what has been called in time "Plural Left" (PCF, Greens, and others) in this initiative looks like a cruel joke. Yet the left in power who gave the whistle to privatization. In 1989, the report commissioned by Knight Rocard gave the road map, to which neither the left nor the right of course, is no exception ... It was Paul Quiles, a Socialist history, which will burst the PTT in 1990. In 1996, under Fillon, France Telecom is privatized ... But capital is public ... In 1997, Jospin sells more than 23% of shares in private and in 1998 still 14.5% ... Obviously, the right to power since 2002 will not be outdone ... Today, the majority shareholder of FT are foreigners, including Carlyle, an investment fund that also speculates on arms sales.

few months ago Michael Vauzelle launched a major national petition to defend public services. What a comedian! Could he not scold his friends in the Socialist Party at the time of large planer ... Because the PTT was not the only ones in sight ...

What other leftist parties, like the NPA, PG, mingle in this action, it proves they are not very fussy about their allies ... Their vision of public services does not exceed the "thirty glorious years" ... State ... always the rule!

Trade unions of The Post, they demonstrate once again their chronic inability to go beyond the accompaniment of capitalism: a call for a strike corporatist one day (September 22), and a referendum. Do not speak of the CFDT, which supports more than twenty years since the sinking of the PTT, and FT Post, status, working conditions, with the help of a CGT until then a little ashamed, but with Thibaud, now fully assumes its role. Behind all this
Barnum, we can discern neither a strategy (referred to participate in elections), or even a social philosophy. That Post is privatized or not, it will not address the needs of postal workers for a rewarding job, or those workers for a cohesive society and egalitarian. This referendum
smells his political maneuvering.

On the merits, it would appear that privatization was a new year. You should know that the Post Office to share its capital, was privatized long thanks à l'externalisation de ses services. Par exemple, La Poste, dès 1986, a sacrifié ses services ambulants ferroviaires, et plus tard ses TGV, pour confier le transport des dépêches et des colis à des transporteurs privés. Depuis quelques années, les camions, voitures, mobylettes jaunes de La Poste sont loués à Hertz. La Poste passe par des agences d'intérim pour recruter son personnel, et pas seulement en période de grève... Les travailleurs de La Poste n'ont pas vu la gauche s'occuper de cela, et au contraire, les gouvernements de gauche leur pourrir autant la vie que ceux de droite! Les suppressions d'emplois à La Poste, la gauche et la droite en ont la même responsabilité.

methods of management at the Post are worth those of private, go figure, the figure and the figure still, crushing staff and users, with the added excitement of new converts! There really is that its leaders to believe (and again, not when they sit in a disciplinary ...) to the "social model of the Post Office!
management of existing public services by the state has proven its failure. The state is, and will never be the guarantor of the interests of exploiters. It is time that workers get together to decide on their own public services they really need to create new ones as needed et en assurer eux-mêmes une gestion égalitaire. Alors oui, une vraie lutte contre la privatisation de la Poste, mais aussi celle de l'école, de l'hôpital, aura un sens: celui de la lutte sociale. Les travailleurs doivent donc soutenir et appuyer de manière effective, selon les modalités qu'ils peuvent décider eux-mêmes hors des officines syndicales et politiques, les luttes locales des Postiers, qui souvent, en luttant contre les organisations désastreuses qui se mettent en place, se battent aussi pour sauvegarder le service offert aux usagers. Cela concerne aussi l'hôpital, l'éducation, et toutes les entreprises en lutte. Nous appelons donc les travailleurs arlésiens à se réunir locally for organizing the response, and beyond, to begin to develop the possibilities of a new society, free, egalitarian and libertarian.

Calculate Ph Og Ammonia Sulphide

Around an Image "nude Provencal" gordes 1949

Consumée, la bougie a laissé ses coulures sur le rebord de la fenêtre. Quelques minutes avant, elle diffusait sa douce lumière faisant bouger les ombres dans la chambre...

- Je ne sais plus sur quel blog, j'ai vu une photo W. Ronis made me think of you. Not yet, but intuitively I returned. And yes, everything in this picture reminds me of you. The atmosphere, the old objects, the fall of kidney, I think.
- ... Really? moved, as always when I feel her gaze .
- Look. He takes his Iphone placed on the wooden ledge near the bed . In which it already?
- Remember, Google is your friend, ask him!
- Ah, yes.
- ... interrogative? I feel what he means, but do not really see.
- Yes! you are willing to get up and put you in the same position at the table?
Slightly exhilarated and a little shy I get up and take the pose. Lying on the bed, he looks me in the flickering light coming from the window. I feel beautiful. It takes a few shots.
-That's it. Come see.
- ... Always moved. Um, more round, but yes, there is something. It is troubling that photo.
- Mummm! You're beautiful ...

Yesterday evening I invited him to eat. Later, lying rather quietly on the bed, chatting about everything and anything he asks me again to pose, her eyes shining. There is nothing like a little scenario smoothly conducted, to ignite directions. Without hesitation I stood up, knowing that I would join ...

On this beautiful moment, just before wrap myself to sleep, I blew the candle. New streaks have a nice design on the windowsill.

Peace Mr Willy Ronis , I discovered a little late, but very nice way.

How Long Can A Hematoma La

About Mill words, can we dress up the term dangerous agitators people who want to nationalists for having initiated this celebration of word and speech, they are refractory to any initiative of ownership of remembrance as modest and genuine it is? Yes, undoubtedly. I was proud of the hundreds of readers who made this evening of words on the Plains of Abraham this weekend. I fear for our future knowing that each of these whispered words, which are vital for our identity, was buried under a ton of calls uttered sacrilegious across the country. Shame on the rabid. I feel sorry for this strange and futile anger blinds them: they do not know where they go and worry less about where we'll all go together.

I'm celebrating the beauty and art in the midst of a tragic shipwreck, like one of those musicians in the orchestra who played amid cries while the Titanic sank in the waters Black Atlantic ...

Facebook Status Religous

When Jack tagg it rains everywhere tickets.

1 - Tell your first love, without specifying either name or date, remain mysterious.

I watch her Triscott spread with Nutella. He makes a mountain. I observe all the details. I am blissful, gaga, raid'dingue. It does not compute to me. For six years the same, always fried, as a dripping lokoum forgotten the sun. It does not concern me yet. Fifteen years later, a little different, but with extraordinary determination, I will, even for once ... Ten months later, this love, my son Lucas was born ... (See this story Cousi No I do not understand anything!)

2 - Tell your greatest love, of your life ... until the next one!

Oh! This one, he stole six years of my life. A love almost violent intensity. A married man who almost made me sick. So it was not the best, but the loudest, most insane. At almost the madness! (Some extracts).

My greatest love, I lived with a woman. Osmosis, the symbiosis most delicate and most perfect never been altered for three years. An almost perfect happiness. Still it was necessary to renounce men, who remain my preference ...

My love most complicated but also more interesting is the one that grabbed me today. Drum it messy, hatched, bothered, delicious. Surprisingly, it remains the most coherent, the smartest, most realistic. Our exchanges are of a quality never achieved before. Our confrontations disrupt our ignorance and we are advancing by leaps and bounds. We do not always resist, we leave, we leave time to walk the thoughts. Reunions always have something extra that confirms the obvious: We love ... It is in the state today ... As usual, we walk with care and caution towards tomorrow. For what it is annoying! :) We are aware of.

3 - Tell a secret love, you never told anyone.

This is a secret .. :) So it will remain secret, otherwise it would lose its appeal.

4 - The most unusual place you've made love.

Unusual is a word created for me. He slipped one day in my psychological construction and stimulates my senses every time. It's almost annoying because the room would become almost the only place to sleep, even if its comfort is undeniable.
Places unusual, there was always, I often provokes. But the most incongruous was this time where the middle of a winter afternoon, stuck at home with our five children, Mr A and myself no longer and went to the bathroom very cramped, very middle the apartment, too small. Fast, well done, despite the children who passed the door, calling us necessarily, (Z'ont sixth sense these small, have a knack for interrupting, they are also short, moments stolen from family life). It was folded to laugh (silently)! We did not leave apart! We left at 5 minute intervals, the air of nothing, the red cheeks.

5 - An adventure through the Internet that you scored ...

While I was incomprehensible resistance, refusing to meet a young man (8 years younger than me) who insisted very nicely. I ended up yield to his advances. There followed a short two-month adventure very intense and upset, too intense to be "normal." The only explanation for this soothing story was extremely upsetting that it was "my son" in one of my previous lives. Yes, there you do not have to believe me, I do not want you ... :). I once told this story either in a post because it is worth seeing and its weight in emotion.

Otherwise, I met Mr A with blogs, but this is not an adventure. Without knowing it, we lived 17 kms from each other. C'est à travers son écriture que j'ai été séduite en premier. Son écriture .. Hum.... Ma pire rivale !

Taguée par Jack .

Buoyancy Of Helium Balloon

We're in the stretch for the presentation of our new artistic level parking at the Theatre entitled Recognition to be presented in co-production at the Théâtre du Trident from September 22 to October 17, 2009 . After several sessions of improvisation and editing over two years, we have penned by Michael Nadeau, designed a show that is faithful to our company's artistic ambitions, a piece positioning themselves between our most successful beauty company Slowly, whom we borrow the thin atmosphere and humor, and Words ghosts, our other collective creation that is most dramatic of which was inspired Hamlet by Shakespeare in his narrative. For Recognition we take the same anchor that is to say that we use this same work again lighthouse to explore the modern quest for meaning, to be or not be in Quebec for creative today. We hope to enjoy the scene-Octave Crémazie and generous home theater Trident to reach a wide audience.

meantime, I enjoyed myself at Espace Libre in Montreal resumed our Life and Death of King lame Jean-Pierre Ronfard in late August. My character Filippo Ragone said moron is carrying electric cart and speaking with "Yeah!" episodic or a few notes out of his battered tuba suited me perfectly. Otherwise, by observing my playmates, I was really impressed by what time and experience avait accompli sur chacun d'eux et la liberté nouvelle que nous nous sommes octroyée en reprenant cette oeuvre grandiose présentée sur huit heures quatre ans après notre dernière représentation. Comme quoi il n'est pas faux de dire qu'une oeuvre théâtrale a tout intérêt à se déposer en ses interprètes pour atteindre son entière plénitude. Il faut dire que le public qui est venu assister aux spectacles était particulièrement généreux et nous donnait beaucoup de ce dont nous avions besoin. Ce sera un excellent souvenir que ce Roi boiteux.

Lyrical Modern Costumes

The bottom of my love.

Ils sont assis derrière la fenêtre. Une table entre eux. Les regards sont émus, pudiques, contenus. Ils se regardent. Ils nous regardent du dehors, sans trop comprendre, sans trop saisir. Ils auront peur de ce regard. Et puis ils oublient ce regard extérieur. Le first round is a dummy argument, history ... Leaning on the table, they will slowly lose in the eyes. Sometimes as a standoff. Sometimes complicit in the glow. Their hands hold. Then come closer. Then keep it, and shaking a little. Still leaning on the table. Unconcerned about when their surroundings. In wrong way they read. They hold hands. The gesture has passed thought the dirt.
He pulls him and kissed his hand. She pulls her to take better yield. Melt better wrap. The other hand remained on the table are shaking their fingers. People become closer to each other as they walked on the table. They meet, entangle, hold, hold back. The arms diverge on their lips trembling. The moment, time, time stops.

Senses prohibited shattered. They no longer hear the voices who say no. Not see, eyes closed, mouths joined. Breathing stopped, accelerated. They came to search with no entry in the face. Hand in hand, body against body. They recognize themselves. Breath breath cons, they are lost. The inevitable attraction surrounds them. They mix in a close embrace almost painful.

The doors open with a bang. They are, find themselves and discover themselves yet. In this strange place, between two spaces, between two times, between one space and time.

Well yes! Despite the reasonable ideas. Despite scrapes the soul. Despite a lot of good and bad reasons. Anyway. It was good. It was loud, it sounded right. was against the direction of decisions. But this man, I have no fear. Our limits are not scary. And this man, I love it. And that's almost three years. Even askew, today I saw as it grabs me yet. And tomorrow, well it tomorrow.
I say this, I say nothing. It's dreadful, it's confusing, it is incomprehensible. Every time we try to love, it also attempts to "hate each other" is trying to "s'amourlibre. We try. We tried everything, even forgotten by the cicadas that sing all summer. But it is not forgotten. There's something tangled there.

Dyshidrotic Eczema Ph

Anarchism is not a controlled appellation


In November 1889 in Barcelona, a hot debate pitted anarchist communist and collectivist anarchists on the merits of their respective positions. Tarrida Fernando del Marmol, a Cuban exile, put an end by calling for tolerance.


Once understood that the primary purpose of all anarchists are always the abolition of Capitalism and the State and the free trial to establish a free society, he asserted, it should demonstrate what might be called the theoretical tolerance of divergent views of secondary importance.


Marmol conclude by using the now famous expression of anarchism without adjective

.


can simply express this idea by saying that anarchism, and that's good, is not a
AOC in
, there is no ownership of this concept and it remains a theory open and called to be transformed again.


gladly I would argue that anarchism is alive and interesting than the condition of respecting the opening and allow these transformations.



(Text by Normand Baillargeon in
Order
less power.)

Church Visitor Welcome Address

An air of freedom




Voici un petit retour de sœur Emmanuelle ( pas la religieuse fort célèbre mais la frangine ainée du marcheur) sur sa journée de marche avec Pierre dans le Lot.



Quand Pierre a décidé brusquement de faire son tour de France à pied, j'ai senti un air de liberté qui a accompagné ma vie depuis son départ. Waouh ! aller droit devant soi, vers l'inconnu, vers la rencontre, et avec pour seul moyen de transport soi-même... Je pense que cette expérience est pour lui immense. Il peut être fier de sa route. En tout cas moi je suis très fière de lui.

Il était évident for me that I accompany him, were it only for a day! The step-
Caussade Concots was easiest for me (mom of two little ones) since we met our family on the ground do fart seconds at the end of this step.
The 38 miles traveled by my untrained gams have been challenging especially the last 5 miles, which I ran because it was less painful and faster (Pierre, meanwhile walked quietly beside me).
Yet in a short distance, you can live a real journey, and the pain is quickly forgotten. The landscapes are changing rapidly, as footsteps. It is both in anticipation "tiens, tout à l'heure on passera à côté de ce village" et dans l'instant présent, à l'affût des sons ou du silence, à l'écoute de ses pensées et du corps qui conduit doucement vers là ou on va. Finalement, on peut aller loin en peu de temps, sans forcément utiliser la voiture. Notre mode de vie actuel nous fait peut-être oublier que les outils sont là pour nous servir, et non pour nous asservir.

On se sent si libre ainsi ! J'ai retrouvé l'esprit que mes parents ont eu dans notre enfance, en particulier quand ils ont construit une roulotte à cheval et que nous sommes partis en famille, souvent avec un copain embarqué dans l'aventure, les chats et le chien. We had no stress daily distance to go, but each trip (300 kms) was exotic, unforgettable. One of us was going to bike when day declined, in "scout" to find a pleasant spot to spend the night with good grass for our horses Bijou.

Our trips were also inhabited by very different events: peasants (nostalgia for the days of horses on farms), farm workers, artists, people of the road, travelers, whimsical, marginal, nomadic and sedentary (permanent or intermittent or dreaming of being) ...
I think this gift we have made our parents, the joy of using the roads is a wonderful legacy!





Finally, only one regret: not having more to market a step towards the people to meet ...

Design Wrestling Gear Online

In general strike in self-management

Hot Wheels Gas Powered Go- Cart

La culture est en laisse. Il se passe quelque chose au Québec actuellement, quelque chose of bad (yes!) for culture and for once, Harper has nothing to do. Our culture is held on a leash. The main problem seems still to be hyper-centralization of it. For now, out of Montreal is no salvation. For the cultural elite of Montreal - Radio-Canada first - which comes from elsewhere in the province appears to have value even if the story is exotic or controversial. It is said, without a second thought surely: "anyway if a particular artist is worth to be heard, it will be heard in Montreal" and his presence on the board Everyone speaks to Julie Couillard sides prove it was correct to focus on his case and that this is another success story copy. Regardless, this is indeed a great success. It's enough to rejoice as the rumor spread and then sales will swell, and culture so it will better. Where is the problem? First it shows a blatant lack of curiosity that plagues our whole society, then it also reveals the lack of alternatives to address them. This is where the Quebec culture seems muzzled.

In my case, personal property, if I wanted a career giving me the opportunity to debate on television shows and other subjects - personal or general - the bad idea was to stay in Quebec City thinking to get there one day. And my frustration was not a legitimate today. If, as I have always said, I chose to stay in Quebec City to work as an actor because there seems to be the ideal place to practice the arts, I did not m 'surprise that we do not talk about my performance in La Presse the following day. So far, so good.

What upsets me though, is what we get when we try to circumvent the general circuit said media folk that includes almost all the television stations, newspapers and radio stations, for frequent waves and currents more marginal here expecting to find a more original and innovative coverage of our culture. Niet. Nothing. Some in the newspaper inserts discrete See, for Radio-Canada, Télé-Québec and that's all. So we fall back on community radio, on local newspapers and blogs, but unfortunately it is still difficult to generate a new stream in Quebec with that. For example, if I'm not looking for information, we will never dare to find out about this expounds such art gallery in the Gaspé, the programming of the next Poetry Festival Three Rivers or on the festival the puppets in Saguenay. If I want to know more about a career as a stage actor who is in his Sesquicentennial theatrical production, I have to wait vraissemblablement why we have exhausted all distribution Virginia the issue Entry Artists ARTV ...

Some of those that oversee and guide our present culture dream of the day they fly into space, others dream of owning their club hockey in the NHL, others seek what other big jokes pockets they will give to hear Bye Bye year Next me, during that time, I dream that the cowardly lousse, my culture, that gives him air!

Walk-in Medical Toronto 24 Hour

In midsummer

This morning, I open wide the windows. The song of all critters out there, invaded the house. Children are still asleep. The air is fresh, but will soon heat up. 36 ° aprem yesterday in the shade ...
This morning, I refocused. This is my last day of vacation. I of course, not everything I needed to do. I flit wide. Booty vied, as long as I fill the time, space and meanders of my brain pretty things.
Clearly, I have not had a moment to look at me chagrineries, or very little. J'ai pris, j'ai donné. Il me fallait avancer. Je me suis levée du bon pied.
Ma soeur m'a dit ce we, que je donnais l'impression d'avoir 25 ans ! Sourire. Ce n'est qu'une impression, peut être l'éclat de mes yeux, et le sourire qui reste accroché, ça le fait !
Comme quoi... en deux temps, trois mouvements, les jours se suivent et ne se ressemblent pas. Un jour on a la tête en travaux, le lendemain on resplendit parce que quelque chose ou quelqu'un nous rend belle et lumineuse... La life !
Aujourd'hui, je disais, je me recentre. Je ne vais pas faire la cigale tout l'été ! Je reprends mes marques. Je vais passer l'aspirateur, et garder la lumière.
Demain, j'attaque before my last course, the ER, I like it. I like working in an emergency, it's exciting. I can not wait to finish my studies! I look forward to signing my beautiful writing down the page, my name, my rank.
Have a great summer! At any
soon!

Oregon State's Pantone Color

A post-Gauvreau it is lived, it seems, over several months.
The perfect antidote may be a bath of tangy twists Veber added to a cocktail of fresh aftershocks s and spicy duo Bacri / Jaoui ? So one summer at the Theatre Petit-Champlain Quebec City surrounded by the friendly team of Theatre Voice Access, for which I sign the staging of a family resemblance Agnes Jaoui and Jean-Pierre Bacri , presented July 22 to August 22, after having committed the horse tax inspector in The Dumb Francis Veber , presented in the same place, until 18 July. Coming to visit us, you will taste a little contagious happiness that we have to investigate and interpret these colorful characters of the contemporary French comedy. Et ce sera un plaisir pour nous de vous y croiser !
Bon été !