50
Compromise – Delayed conflict in time
A compromise is a time-delayed conflict. A temporary solution that becomes menacingly permanent and imperceptibly poisoning existence. This looks like a temporary barn, which was made in haste to live in it while the main house is being built.
In the future, of course, for meals, it is planned to replace the barn with a good room, where it will be conveniently light and beautiful. But time passes, and somehow you get used to these not very aesthetic and crooked walls and it seems that it will already come down. You can eat.
Saturation comes, well, you think that you are sitting at a kerosene lamp, because the electricity is not conducted. But you get into your mouth with a fork, and it seems that resources are already directed to another project. Yes, the roof leaks, but you can always put the pelvis under stubborn drops. And the feet themselves remember the district ornate path to the table.
Flexibility is a matter of survival, including the flexibility of the legs, which deftly dance the pelvis and still bring to the meal.
The look is blurred, loses its sharpness. The focus is mainly on building a house. But the barn bitch is annoying. We're planning a bath. And lunches are repeated again and again in a poorly lit and stuffy room - an old shed. Because it's already there, and it's needed somewhere. The two verbs “is” coincide with God. After all, the efforts are now aimed at equipping the garage.
So some temporary solutions stay with us for a long time, if not forever. And is it more important where to sleep or put the car, why these rooms paid attention, and the dining room and kitchen are not? Who knows? It's just like that. Somewhere better, someplace worse. After all, everything is not good and beautiful. It doesn't happen? Yeah, I was told it by my parents, Aunt Zina, an elementary school teacher and someone else. They know better than I do. Perhaps this belief is the reason for the presence of uncomfortable sheds, which for decades callous eyes. We accept them. We accept them, we agree with them. We tolerate it. We do not have to fight with the barns (laughter, we are adults), so they win.
But one morning or evening something stifling comes to the throat. With this close state of mind comes the understanding of “you can’t live like this anymore.” Thought is crystal clear, it lightning accurately and accurately destroys the barn, turning it into a pile of ashes. And nothing else is pathetic. No more jars of jam on the shelves, no old rakes, even mouse droppings, despite the fact that he used to creak under the soles for years.
Mental castration: selfishness in relationships
Why do we need men after 50?
All memory dried up, burned and gave a wonderful fireworks display. It seemed that this stupid shed would burn everything around the site. Everything that was built carefully and painstakingly, from better materials. Ahn no. There is a bath, a house, and even a whole garage. Only there's no barn. Do what you want with the free space now. You want to plant cherries, you want pears, you want apple trees. Drunk freedom! There's a place to turn! How about a swing lawn? Pool? published
Author: Masha Moshkovskaya
Source: rissina.livejournal.com/118541.html
In the future, of course, for meals, it is planned to replace the barn with a good room, where it will be conveniently light and beautiful. But time passes, and somehow you get used to these not very aesthetic and crooked walls and it seems that it will already come down. You can eat.
Saturation comes, well, you think that you are sitting at a kerosene lamp, because the electricity is not conducted. But you get into your mouth with a fork, and it seems that resources are already directed to another project. Yes, the roof leaks, but you can always put the pelvis under stubborn drops. And the feet themselves remember the district ornate path to the table.
Flexibility is a matter of survival, including the flexibility of the legs, which deftly dance the pelvis and still bring to the meal.
The look is blurred, loses its sharpness. The focus is mainly on building a house. But the barn bitch is annoying. We're planning a bath. And lunches are repeated again and again in a poorly lit and stuffy room - an old shed. Because it's already there, and it's needed somewhere. The two verbs “is” coincide with God. After all, the efforts are now aimed at equipping the garage.
So some temporary solutions stay with us for a long time, if not forever. And is it more important where to sleep or put the car, why these rooms paid attention, and the dining room and kitchen are not? Who knows? It's just like that. Somewhere better, someplace worse. After all, everything is not good and beautiful. It doesn't happen? Yeah, I was told it by my parents, Aunt Zina, an elementary school teacher and someone else. They know better than I do. Perhaps this belief is the reason for the presence of uncomfortable sheds, which for decades callous eyes. We accept them. We accept them, we agree with them. We tolerate it. We do not have to fight with the barns (laughter, we are adults), so they win.
But one morning or evening something stifling comes to the throat. With this close state of mind comes the understanding of “you can’t live like this anymore.” Thought is crystal clear, it lightning accurately and accurately destroys the barn, turning it into a pile of ashes. And nothing else is pathetic. No more jars of jam on the shelves, no old rakes, even mouse droppings, despite the fact that he used to creak under the soles for years.
Mental castration: selfishness in relationships
Why do we need men after 50?
All memory dried up, burned and gave a wonderful fireworks display. It seemed that this stupid shed would burn everything around the site. Everything that was built carefully and painstakingly, from better materials. Ahn no. There is a bath, a house, and even a whole garage. Only there's no barn. Do what you want with the free space now. You want to plant cherries, you want pears, you want apple trees. Drunk freedom! There's a place to turn! How about a swing lawn? Pool? published
Author: Masha Moshkovskaya
Source: rissina.livejournal.com/118541.html
