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I love new beginnings seasons, dried figs, maternity belly and old cabinets. I man, who fools the technology, I prefer postcards as SMS messages and a hundred times rather go to the movies or the theater as watching TV. but I also have a weakness: my computer, namely, that it is my love. the first Mac I had an unscheduled and is really not enough razveselia, because I think that you do not need. our love has grown slowly and at the end when he broke down before parimi months ago, I was really miserable. today I got a new one: of course I sacrificed a few hours of learning and with it better to know (yeah, I decided that this time the woman) and together we have selected some popular supplements, without which it is not easy.
(hmm, I always wanted to be a writer sometime in 1910, and typing on a typewriter)

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Sometimes Fate is like a That keeps small sandstorm Changing directions. You change direction But the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, But the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like catfish ominous Dance With Death Just Before Dawn. Why? Because this Is not Something That storm blew and from far away, Something That has nothing to do With You. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is Give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

An you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.
— Haruki Murakami