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Sac the note

Sac the note

The sun has come up and I am sitting by a window that is foggy with the breath of a life gone by. I’m a sight this morning: two sac shirts, heavy pants, a scarf wrapped twice around my neck and tucked into a thick sweater knitted by my daughter thirty birthdays ago. The thermostat in my room is set as high as it will go, and a smaller space heater sits directly behind me. II clicks and groans and spews hot air like a fairy-tale dragon, and still my body shivers with a cold that will never go away, a cold that has been eighty years in the making. Eighty years.

I wonder if this is how it is for everyone my age.My life? It isn’t easy to explain. It has not been the rip-roaring spectacular I acheter sac fancied it would be, but neither have I burrowed around with the gophers. I suppose it has most resembled a blue-chip stock: fairly stable, more ups than downs, and gradually trending upwards over time. I’ve learned that not everyone can say this about his life.

But do not be misled. I am nothing special, of this I am sure. I am a common man with common thoughts, and I’ve led a achat sac common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten, but I’ve loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me this has always been enough.

The romantics would call this a love story: the cynics would call it a tragedy. In my mind it’s a little bit of both, and no matter how sacs en ligne you choose to view it in the end, it does not change the fact that it involves a great deal of my life. I have no complaints about the path.

I’ve chosen to follow and the places it has taken me—the path has always been the right one. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. achat sac en ligne Time, unfortunately doesn’t make it easy to stay on course. The path is straight as ever, but now it is strewn with the rocks and gravel that accumulate over a lifetime. Until three years ago it would have been easy to ignore, but it’s impossible now. There is a sickness rolling through my body; I’m neither strong nor healthy, and my days are spent like an old party balloon: listless, spongy and growing softer over time.I cough, and through squinted eyes I check my watch. I realize it is time to go. I stand and shuffle across the room; stopping at the desk to pick up the notebook I have read a hundred times.

I slip it beneath my arm and continue on my way to the place I must go.I walk on tiled floors, white speckled with grey. Like sac besace cuir my hair and the hair of most people here, though I’m the only one in the hallway this morning. They are in their rooms, alone except for television, but they, like me, are used to it. A person can get used to anything, given enough lime.

I hear the muffled sounds of crying in the distance and know who is making them. The nurses see me and we smile and Amarante exchange greetings. I am sure they wonder about me and the things that I go through every day. I listen as they begin to whisper among themselves when I pass.“There he goes again.†I hear. “I hope it turns out well.†But they say nothing directly to me about it.

A minute later, I reach the room. The door has been propped open for me, as it usually is. There are two nurses in the room, Paul and as I enter they say “Good morning†with cheery voices, and I take a moment to ask about the kids and the schools and upcoming vacations.

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