<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;CkQHQng4fyp7ImA9WhRbEUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330</id><updated>2012-02-01T21:38:53.637-05:00</updated><title>Girl in a bottle II</title><subtitle type="html">Stranger things have happened at sea</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>321</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/FBOUw" /><feedburner:info uri="blogspot/fbouw" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkQHQng_fSp7ImA9WhRbEUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-8622453171367118413</id><published>2012-02-01T21:38:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-01T21:38:53.645-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-02-01T21:38:53.645-05:00</app:edited><title>Pharmacopia</title><content type="html">I am thinking that I have to revisit my depths. Spend some time alone, figuring my body and my senses, my envies and desires.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But first I must say, loudly and clearly, that I have found my true love, as far as I know, as far as it may go, with no doubt about this man and me for keeps. This was the third spoke of the wheel that I put together: my work, my home, my love. I have all three today, now, and I know that I am blessed. I must remember that this, too, shall pass. But, there are many ways of passing, or transitioning, or evolving, growing, changing, moving, loving and living. I am a happy person. And happiness begets happiness.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Back to my body and senses, then. I have some disfunction, as you may know. Currently I am nursing a cold. It's only taking me to sleep and away from work, as far as symptoms go. This may be a good thing. I &amp;nbsp;am sensing the great barrier reef of stress not too far in the background (it has humongous destructive powers). This may be because I reduced my antidepressents - the timing coincides completely. It may be because I started the (contraceptive) pill, it can have similar effects, although if you read the list of side effects for the pill, anything and its opposite can happen.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I've reduced the antidepressant because they interfere with my sex life. I haven't noticed improvements, so I am investigating what can be done. I wouldn't lower my antidepressants again because the stress would kick-in and wreak havoc. I should meditate on why, why, do I accept all this stress. I could start acting like I did one day in high school, when I stopped caring about my performance and started having a life outside of school. This is a very new thought. I have never had this idea before, and I think that there is something there.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I will tell my doctor what the status is next week. He can change my doses and my type of meds. I have other answers for my sex life. Did some interesting reading on the Orgasmic Diet book - I will try it. I have started yoga and will pursue it of course. I need to do all this in baby steps. Baby steps. It is simply curious how my body is acting, and this is why I was thinking that I need to go in my body and senses for themselves, sola. What does all this expansion and retraction modulate, and how can it educate me?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am patient with myself and so my lover will be too. Now resting every part of my body like it wants too, listening and not resisting.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amourx.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-8622453171367118413?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/tcY172iNu3Q" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/8622453171367118413/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=8622453171367118413" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/8622453171367118413?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/8622453171367118413?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/tcY172iNu3Q/pharmacopia.html" title="Pharmacopia" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2012/02/pharmacopia.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkUMQX8zcCp7ImA9WhRWGUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-366933424373373662</id><published>2012-01-07T10:31:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-07T10:31:20.188-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-07T10:31:20.188-05:00</app:edited><title>Amour</title><content type="html">Ladies and gentleman, I am in love. And I think that he is the one. And that he is for keeps. And it is the first time that I don't have reasonable doubt about a man's compatibility with me. It seems to all be working and flowing, and me floating.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have never ever been able to write the first three sentences of this post in all my life of 38 years. It has been only one month and four days. We are moving fast but it is natural, and now, possibly we will slow down. Sip the drink rather then gulp whole glasses. We have been thirsty for a long time, and we were both ready to meet each other on that happy day.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You will excuse me for being sappy, but if you saw how my eyes are fired up now! Yours would be too. I am on a natural high and indeed I've reduced my dose of antidepressant medecine.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I was going to write about some worry, about how we are moving along and what to do to protect us, since we are holding a pretty rare and fragile thing. But I forget what it was. Maybe I am too enamoured. I will write again. Inspired poetry will come back.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amourx.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-366933424373373662?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/t7e_UWwM_O4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/366933424373373662/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=366933424373373662" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/366933424373373662?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/366933424373373662?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/t7e_UWwM_O4/amour.html" title="Amour" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2012/01/amour.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkUNRXczfSp7ImA9WhRQEU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-4918800448543335420</id><published>2011-12-05T17:20:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-05T17:31:34.985-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-05T17:31:34.985-05:00</app:edited><title>Flammes</title><content type="html">La vie fait assez bien les choses. J'ai croisé ma vieille flamme par hasard samedi soir dans un cabaret, et c'était lorsqu'un cavalier me tirait sur le plancher de danse. On s'est salué. Lui était seul mais il parlait avec une ou des femmes, visiblement pour faire contact. J'étais mal à l'aise, suis partie seule, et éventuellement un Polonais m'a fait danser et danser et tourner.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Je suis pas mal facile côté émotions. Il en arrive un de potable et je pars en ballon. Vraiment, c'est notoire. Mais pour mon ex, il y a eu aussi ce commentaires d'une copine qui ne le connaissait pas. "Lui?", avec un air surpris, dans le sens de 'tu peux faire mieux' je crois. Tout ça m'a permis de faire le bris avec la chose du passé. Strictement amical ça sera.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Que je suis crédule moi. Et j'allais dire que je suis ici parce que j'ai les plombs, je suis fâchée, éreintée de ma journée au point que... je réalise que je vais être menstruée bientôt. Aaah ça explique. Mais c'est lundi et je suis vraiment à pic.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Si le Polonais m'appelait, ça changerait la donne. Je pense que j'ai agis en grosse anglaise parce que je l'ai pas vraiment touché avant la toute fin. Mais je l'ai quand même laissé m'embrasser et puis j'ai quitté, le bar fermait.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Et puis mon Turque qu'en est-il? J'en sais foutrement rien. J'ai bien peur de me rendre là-bas. Peur de ce que les gens pensent. Peur de constater in situ qu'il est petit et maigre, et que j'aime pas ça. Et... Peur de ne pas connaître d'homme enfin, d'avoir une relation. Ça me tenterait, ça. Pour un petit bout, ou un grand.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Patience?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amourx.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-4918800448543335420?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/mhI0MjDuEkQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/4918800448543335420/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=4918800448543335420" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/4918800448543335420?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/4918800448543335420?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/mhI0MjDuEkQ/flammes.html" title="Flammes" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/12/flammes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0IGSHs4eyp7ImA9WhRRF00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-4204306842108294797</id><published>2011-11-30T19:43:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-30T20:05:29.533-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-30T20:05:29.533-05:00</app:edited><title>Changes</title><content type="html">Ça vaut le coup de faire le point ce soir. Je me sens à une croisée...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Je suis un peu déçue des points qui ont été retenus sur mon éval. Mais elle était quand même bonne. Il faut que je vois plus grand et plus loin, et ça sera mon objectif cet année, voir au delà de ces petites choses, travailler sur le fond, et laisser aller l'éphémère.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Pour l'amour, j'ai revu une vielle flamme et ça a raviver l'attirance vraiment fort. Là c'est bon le temps a passer. Mais je me demande encore si c'est lui mon homme. Si je le contacte je crois qu'il va embarquer, et moi avec. J'ai vu un danger là, et j'y ai penser très fort pendant une semaine.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Puis il y a eu une soirée de filles à oublier, car une 'copine' a sauter les plombs et m'a gueulé après bien pire que du poisson pourri à la fermeture d'un bar, car elle croyait, ivrogne qu'elle était, que je lui piquais son mec. C'était violant, et en y pensant, je suis encore secouée et dérangée par l'expérience même plusieurs jours après.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Puis, boulot boulot. Je tombe lentement du mois de crise. Je me sens fragile et émotive, normal, faut pas que j'en fasse un cas.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Mon turque m'a téléphoné! C'est la 2e fois que je réponds. Il m'a fait écouter de la musique turque longtemps, il était à un concert. Et puis il m'a parlé. Il était en train de boire, Il va m'emmener voir des spectacle, il s'ennuie, il m'aime, il m'embrasse... C'était quand même bien de pouvoir lui parler, un peu magique. J'ai quand même peur, ou encore des doutes. Je ne sais pas si j'y vais en fait. Des fois je veux plutôt aller dans le sud.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Je ne veux pas perdre l'idée de ma vielle flamme et moi, non plus. Il me semble, il m'a semblé, qu'il était ma solution, quand je l'ai vu. Et là je l'oublie.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Damn.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amourx.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-4204306842108294797?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/DYHq03dnaFc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/4204306842108294797/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=4204306842108294797" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/4204306842108294797?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/4204306842108294797?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/DYHq03dnaFc/changes.html" title="Changes" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/11/changes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEcESXc5eyp7ImA9WhRSEk8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-2776565599635494767</id><published>2011-11-13T18:06:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-13T18:13:28.923-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-13T18:13:28.923-05:00</app:edited><title>Far Away so Close</title><content type="html">I had a date with my lover. This time it was really nice on the internet. I am far from him but it was lovely and sweet. I love his face. We listened to music and are happy just staring at each other like kids. Me thinks maybe he's the one. But so far.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have had messages from other men. My ex-ex for one, a very strange and dangerous thing it is for me to see him again, but I will as for closure or for the natural way life goes on. Today I rested a lot. I am worried of things dragging on, things I don't have time to care for, the little things. And I wish I wrote my pen and paper journal about all the things that happened, put my Turkey photos up. Life is going fast and I have been sick. Resting today is making it better I am sure.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amourx.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-2776565599635494767?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/8JmiQM-QWeA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/2776565599635494767/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=2776565599635494767" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/2776565599635494767?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/2776565599635494767?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/8JmiQM-QWeA/far-away-so-close.html" title="Far Away so Close" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/11/far-away-so-close.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEMNRXg4fSp7ImA9WhRSEEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-8930690722505311745</id><published>2011-11-11T23:06:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-11T23:34:54.635-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-11T23:34:54.635-05:00</app:edited><title>Cocketry</title><content type="html">I wish that I could chat with a lover, now. I am lucky because I often do. I chatted with one this morning. He is a million miles away, but we chat everyday, mostly about love.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am elated when I think of it. And, I have never kissed him, never touched him any longer than a handshake. We were together in the world for 2 hours tops, and from that time I have been sailing away, and he, chasing me like a man would.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Very few men in my neck of the woods.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So can you tell that I am happy? It's not only him, there has been more goodness in my life. I'm still off balance, worse than before, because of unforeseen crunch time out of the realms of normalcy at work. I'm playing like a pro and not losing my oumpf, but... balance is off. Weight is on. Coquetry is still in, and this is a good sign of the overall moral.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
More goodness in the form of friendship and other flirts yes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And a full calendar of fun.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And another trip to Turkey to come.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amourx.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-8930690722505311745?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/840doXl3FQg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/8930690722505311745/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=8930690722505311745" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/8930690722505311745?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/8930690722505311745?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/840doXl3FQg/cocketry.html" title="Cocketry" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/11/cocketry.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0UERXw9cSp7ImA9WhRTEUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-6202421857640589520</id><published>2011-11-01T06:59:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-11-01T07:00:04.269-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-01T07:00:04.269-04:00</app:edited><title>Turkish Delights</title><content type="html">There is a lot to catch up on and I have a few minutes in the early morning. My trip to turkey was wonderful, one of my best ever with two girlfriends, nothing went wrong. Everything reminds me that leaving my ex has turned me into a happy girl with an easy way about life and people. I am actually social and sometimes chatty, even. I will not date an antisocial downer dude ever again.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I haven't been healthy with stress and food or sleep. The trip, plus big work crisis management, plus boys... Yes boys. I actually have a platonic internet relationship with the most romantic sweetheart that lives in turkey. I call him a boy but rest assured he is in his thirties. It's just that he is romantic from another era, almost. It is right to call his world another era, it is so different. I will have to end it soon, I keep thinking, and our little hearts will hurt.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I had a beautiful birthday with friends, colleagues, family... Probably also the best ever. And if this is the year of best then I declare it so.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have a vow of regaining health and finance control, but work is interfering with yoga this morning. Balance it hard to attain.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amourx.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-6202421857640589520?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/NaGTHKJJykQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/6202421857640589520/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=6202421857640589520" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/6202421857640589520?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/6202421857640589520?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/NaGTHKJJykQ/turkish-delights.html" title="Turkish Delights" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/11/turkish-delights.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0YNQH86cSp7ImA9WhdUEUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-4645256468673528040</id><published>2011-09-27T20:51:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-27T20:53:11.119-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-27T20:53:11.119-04:00</app:edited><title>Tides</title><content type="html">I hereby declare me Calm and Free.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If I write too much I will get tedious, and I may already be so. But this conversation with myself helps in a way, I hope you don't mind.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In the tedious there is work which is intense but contained. I shouldn't mind too much, but I miss knitting. There is a trip shortly that will take me away. And then also... me and men. It's a hole new ballgame.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The spirit is ok, is good even. I'm a bit afraid, but that's a good sign. I would welcome the calm back in, for a while, until the new tide rolls in.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amourx.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-4645256468673528040?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/FK_O2tM-HB0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/4645256468673528040/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=4645256468673528040" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/4645256468673528040?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/4645256468673528040?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/FK_O2tM-HB0/tides.html" title="Tides" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/09/tides.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUIEQ349eip7ImA9WhdUEEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-4651852054105119710</id><published>2011-09-26T21:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-26T21:38:22.062-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-26T21:38:22.062-04:00</app:edited><title>The Crack Thing.</title><content type="html">A two-weeker. I'm in mourning for a two week lust affair. There was a lot that opened and I can easily wax authentic poetics about a passionate albeit short and stunted affair. I could be melodramatic about it, I could tell you that I even saw marriage and family -- it's crazy how things go to your head fast, or mine at least. The bigger point is that I melted. The big iceberg that I was completely and drastically melted. To the point that fire is getting hard to contain. But I ended it, and even if I mourn it, I am proud of me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Lately in my life, I have become more rational in my thought process. It's helping me to keep emotions from taking over my life and to make decisions that will help me gain self esteem, which is the one thing that I have to protect above all. It's hard for me to favour cold hard facts over the beautiful thing that happen when your heart open's up. Cause it did, or at least a big crack gave in and light came out, or in. I could say beautiful and touching things about it forever. But, it's over and I don't want to fall into that. I have been uniquely good enough to tell him sweetly that it won't work. He sweetly confirmed it, keeping an absolutely no strings attached door open that I won't open. I can't because of the crack thing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Instead I will be rational and learn to love it. Because what I have to protect is fragile, and I'm ok with that. I will be the one who takes care it forever. I'm hoping to meet a lovely man, but I'll be patient and ward off fear. It's tough getting a hang of this self esteem thing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have one night to cry if I want to. I won't. This feels more like a lovely deception. The thoughts are mostly sweet. No adult was hurt during filming. And I don't cry much anymore, not like I used to. Should I tell you that I had all kind of crazy fiery thoughts going on last week-end and that it ended with a deep massage by a pro, who just happened to be exactly what I needed? Now I don't feel as fiery, but I'm definitely still porous, open and fragile. It's expansive, it's what I wanted.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tonight I'll think of my masseur and sleep well. And Man, I wish you a good night.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amourx.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-4651852054105119710?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/e_5_DhbKAOg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/4651852054105119710/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=4651852054105119710" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/4651852054105119710?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/4651852054105119710?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/e_5_DhbKAOg/crack-thing.html" title="The Crack Thing." /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/09/crack-thing.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEIBSXw7eSp7ImA9WhdVF0k.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-1176110822377760550</id><published>2011-09-22T22:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-22T22:55:58.201-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-22T22:55:58.201-04:00</app:edited><title>At Least it was Consumed</title><content type="html">There is very little I can do with texting as my only means to an unavailable man. I don't think that I can even sulk. And I don't know how to find answers to my problem on the internet. The only answer is to find another man. And the better answer is to stop thinking, stop focusing on him (even if it's so lovely). Start focusing on me again, cause I will lose my all if I leave my head in hope. Think of him like a lost hope, a quickie one, that at least was consumed once. I think that I can be at peace with this.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Start meditating on myself. Start looking inwards. I know that I am radiating something now that my libido is back in full fledge. I could find another lover. And Man, I am still looking out for you. Not going to stop.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Just need a couple slaps in the face and I'll be fine. In retrospect, this was a very lovely adventure, nice in all respects. A lovely man. And now, I can move on to the next one. It's not mean, it is what it is. He is one type of man and there are others. And I will be pleased. He wasn't my best. I'll be fine. I'm fine.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The plague is all gone, drying up.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amourx.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-1176110822377760550?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/QrGGTfC0HrU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/1176110822377760550/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=1176110822377760550" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/1176110822377760550?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/1176110822377760550?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/QrGGTfC0HrU/at-least-it-was-consumed.html" title="At Least it was Consumed" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/09/at-least-it-was-consumed.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE4MRX04cCp7ImA9WhdVFks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-7270682838858734302</id><published>2011-09-21T23:43:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-21T23:43:04.338-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-21T23:43:04.338-04:00</app:edited><title>Fight the Plague</title><content type="html">I have a night of sleep to catch up on. Sadly it is the mundane things keeping me up - what an irritant a person can be, even now, like a plague. It is a true problem and tax. And I don't have the answer and fuck I may not sleep again.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A good thing that he wrote back, put a smile back up in my face. Distance is the best answer right now. And I'm going to turkey. And it's not that important. This post wasn't going to be about the plague.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Was it going to be about him? I am for once tired enough that I'm not too scared of what may be. I don't know the guy. I was with him for a total of 3 hours, maybe 4. All I know is that I would like to see him again, and that it doesn't have to be too fast. Fuck the plague is on me again. What was I saying.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I like to daydream. I just did it now. And you know by now if you read me that he's had a high impact on my person. Maybe because he's the first.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I need to setup a mental image again to fight the plague. It was Cinderella's sisters last week, now I don't know what it might be. It might come up in my dream.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I feel stronger even if right now I can barely keep my eyes open. Maybe the worst is behind me with the plague. Maybe I'm just happy he wrote back. Maybe I can daydream into the night.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amourx&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-7270682838858734302?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/5KkBkpStrS8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/7270682838858734302/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=7270682838858734302" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/7270682838858734302?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/7270682838858734302?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/5KkBkpStrS8/fight-plague.html" title="Fight the Plague" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/09/fight-plague.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0IDSHozcCp7ImA9WhdVFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-242387314681735279</id><published>2011-09-20T20:39:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-20T20:39:39.488-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-20T20:39:39.488-04:00</app:edited><title>On Acting Like it's the End of the World</title><content type="html">Permanence is the thing I fear the most, as in being stuck for ever in an unfortunate situation. Single forever, or stuck with someone forever. What happens today is going to repeat for eternity. Happiness itself is fleeting, it's j-u-s-t about up for grabs and then poof, it goes out of reach.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Everything does go on. Sad days, good days, they all pass. It's ok. I understand that life is different for me now that I am more stable and no longer depressed, but it will take me a few years to change my default vision, my fear of permanence. The good, the bad, it comes and goes like ebb and flow. I better learn to swim.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm heavily taxed by a colleague and not sure how best to proceed. Although my night is free and I have more invitations that I normally handle, my house is clean and life is good, she pushes and pushes and pushes the buttons and I contain, contain, contain myself. It's not healthy, and I wish that I could switch it off tonight.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And I want to talk about the boy or rather the experience with the boy a little bit more seriously. I have been doing a good job of brushing him off. This is protection and it does keep me from tipping over into lala land. I don't often find attractive matches for me, so when I do, I get carried away on a helium filled balloon.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And lets face this for a moment. He's the first man since I'm single, and all of it was nice. One would react after... 4 years of desert. It's a harsh word to describe my ex relationship but it is a suitable image in a way. I didn't have the right kind of man for me. This new guy was more like it, so now I know what to look for. So he's some kind of a stepping stone.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Cause frankly, I couldn't deal with the competition.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If this reasoning sounds forced it's because it is. I'm trying to catch myself and give me a soft landing. I guess that I can grieve a little. Like an inch.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I will put my earphones on with a lullaby and calm me down.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Man, I'm writing all this down but I told you, if you are around, you can show up now. I can say that I am grateful that I've had an adventure, and that this is a nice counter-balance to the current work problem, who's subject may not have had a nice adventure last week-end, and maybe not in a long time. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But boy I need help with that one. This I know Man.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You know my address.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amourx.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-242387314681735279?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/BSWc6UwcNbQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/242387314681735279/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=242387314681735279" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/242387314681735279?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/242387314681735279?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/BSWc6UwcNbQ/on-acting-like-its-end-of-world.html" title="On Acting Like it's the End of the World" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/09/on-acting-like-its-end-of-world.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0QFRXk8fCp7ImA9WhdVFUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-2191341718878919178</id><published>2011-09-20T18:55:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-20T18:55:14.774-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-20T18:55:14.774-04:00</app:edited><title>Rum Punch</title><content type="html">I think it's time for a good things list. On the top of that list is rum, lime and sugar. Specially licking the sugar à la fin.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Other good things:&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;ul&gt;
&lt;li&gt;My completely melted and tuned up disposition&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Ruling like a tyrannosaurus rex&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Helium brain&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Calling him a good movie reel&amp;nbsp;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Invitations for more nights than I can handle&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Great yoga class&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;A fucking clean home!&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;A second glass of rum as I write my good things list&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Maybe not&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Turkey in 2 weeks!&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Three girls instead of two on a trip&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Licking the sugar à la fin&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
Amourx.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-2191341718878919178?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/I5DmA3aToJ0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/2191341718878919178/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=2191341718878919178" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/2191341718878919178?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/2191341718878919178?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/I5DmA3aToJ0/rum-punch.html" title="Rum Punch" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/09/rum-punch.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUIGR3w6cSp7ImA9WhdVFEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-8662681018176914823</id><published>2011-09-19T19:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-19T19:05:26.219-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-19T19:05:26.219-04:00</app:edited><title>Ligne de faille</title><content type="html">Il y a des choses qu'il vaut mieux oublier quand on a trop d'espoir. J'ai cette manie de boire du rhum à la lime sucré ces jours-ci. Ça fait descendre toute la pression. J'ai beaucoup de stratégies pour oublier. C'était une histoire d'un soir. Une très belle histoire assez bien déroulée comme je la désirais. Je peux être satisfaite juste pour ça. Au minimum ce n'est pas un dépendant affectif. Au maximum il est marié. J'ai de quoi faire tourner des films en boucle longtemps.&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
Ça tombe bien car c'est vraiment désagréable au boulot. J'ai quelqu'un dans mes pattes. M'énerve. Je ne sais pas comment je vais tirer mon épine du pied. J'aimerais pouvoir être bien zen mais depuis 2 jours je flotte aux vapeurs d'hélium (voir ci-haut), je bois pour descendre un peu sur terre, et je mange sans y penser. Je pense qu'on parle de maladie d'amour dans ces conditions. À défaut d'être zen je peux basculer de la réalité bien désagréable du bureau à l'ivresse des souvenirs et de l'espoir que j'essaie d'étouffer, mais entre les deux il n'y a pas de lieux commun.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
Sauf si j'essaie bien fort de me détacher de l'un comme de l'autre, et de donner le temps au temps. Ce soir je vais lire sur la condition des HSP (Highly Sensitive People) en amour. Je me suis apportée du boulot mais je ne le ferai pas. Il y a des limites à mon don que je fait de moi au boulot. Puisqu'on me rend la vie difficile, j'ai le droit de faire fuck you.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
Fuck you.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
Amourx.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-8662681018176914823?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/nyODbTeSq-I" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/8662681018176914823/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=8662681018176914823" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/8662681018176914823?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/8662681018176914823?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/nyODbTeSq-I/ligne-de-faille.html" title="Ligne de faille" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/09/ligne-de-faille.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0QFSHwzfCp7ImA9WhdVEk8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-5891181352952691977</id><published>2011-09-16T23:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-16T23:15:19.284-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-16T23:15:19.284-04:00</app:edited><title>La Roublisse</title><content type="html">I shouldn't write about it but I'm in reaction. Such a big week with the step-sisters on tow, ended with a call and I am going to be cool just to save my face a bit. J'ai tellement envie de cet homme et je ne sais pas pourquoi on ne s'est pas encore heurter la peau. Ça doit être la faute des anguilles sous les roches.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Timidité. C'est une possibilité. De toute manière je viens de lancer l'invitation par texto beaucoup plus clairement. Si rien n'arrive, et je l'avais déjà oublié mercredi si ce n'était de ses messages décevants, c'est juste frustrant quoi. Il a quelque chose de compliqué avec une fille, ça j'ai compris.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Je m'étais trompée en tout cas, il connait toute les lettres de mon nom. Il va quand même falloir que je le roublisse si rien ne se passe, et que je trouve vivement autre peau à heurter.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Ça aura le mérite de me faire laver la maison, capitaine amour.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amourx.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-5891181352952691977?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/ivYwja_9EGU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/5891181352952691977/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=5891181352952691977" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/5891181352952691977?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/5891181352952691977?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/ivYwja_9EGU/la-roublisse.html" title="La Roublisse" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/09/la-roublisse.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0IDSXw7fyp7ImA9WhdVEk8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-4877726100979523050</id><published>2011-09-16T00:30:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-16T23:19:38.207-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-16T23:19:38.207-04:00</app:edited><title>Tic encore</title><content type="html">Besoin d'attention. Poker night, fun. J'ai gagné en quelque sorte, une des deux dernières. J'ai reçu ma montre qui dit l'heure juste encore malgré que je l'ai passé dans la laveuse et ensuite envoyé par courrier pour réparer son bracelet et ça m'est revenu aujourd'hui et l'heure juste tic encore.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Je devrais pas écrire ça mais ça fait 3 fois que le gars me texte et merde. C'est toujours décevant tellement c'est vide. Il ne sait même pas encore mon nom passé les 3 première lettres! Et vraiment, c'est après celles-là que ça se joue. Fuck. Justement. Je suis frustrée. Ça aurait pu être vraiment facile pour lui. Si jamais il me retexte, je l'appelle et je l'engueule.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Vous excuserez cette écriture déferlante. Je suis un peu énervée. Besoin d'attention et d'homme. Fachée que la vie m'en donne pas là maintenant. Fachée de choses ordinaires. Je vais me rétablir. Amourx.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-4877726100979523050?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/ZxXqwNXOd48" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/4877726100979523050/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=4877726100979523050" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/4877726100979523050?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/4877726100979523050?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/ZxXqwNXOd48/tic-encore.html" title="Tic encore" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/09/tic-encore.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkMFSX87fip7ImA9WhdVEEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-6487526981419523142</id><published>2011-09-14T19:55:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-14T21:33:38.106-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-14T21:33:38.106-04:00</app:edited><title>More Aloof</title><content type="html">Stress is up, waaaaay up. But going down now with a hit of rhum and lime and sugar. Aaaaah.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I also had a nice chat with sister, to vent, in between her three children claiming her attention for homework, soap, nintendo, homework and random questions. It helped. I can't go into details because I wouldn't be a professional if I did - it's work related and this blog is more aloof then that (love that word).&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She left me with a picture of Cinderella and her two sisters. I wasn't one of the sisters. I like this image, it calms me. And it is quite right. I might print it and put it up at my desk hehe.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Selah Sue on the speakers singing with some dude. One more thing that helps. I know that I have some alliances and some good sense. And that sometimes you have to step up and do your shit, and I did it! I can be proud.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Cool, I've just become collected. I have some housekeeping to do. A poker night tomorrow oh yeah! A reaquaintance with girlfriends past on Friday, and a very lovely Table Champêtre for Saturday.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Luvx.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-6487526981419523142?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/-eSLMRLJqlM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/6487526981419523142/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=6487526981419523142" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/6487526981419523142?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/6487526981419523142?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/-eSLMRLJqlM/more-aloof.html" title="More Aloof" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/09/more-aloof.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak8NSXwzfyp7ImA9WhdWGUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-3302037568168024665</id><published>2011-09-13T20:08:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-13T20:08:18.287-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-13T20:08:18.287-04:00</app:edited><title>Taps</title><content type="html">I am calming down. Today I was easily aroused at work and I voiced my concerns. They were all heard and acted upon so I should look back and feel good. Tap myself on the back. Yay.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm expecting a down because there is usually one after I have a night with too much excitement, and I refer to many things here. The people, the friends, the packed bars, the drinks... All these things make me hyper aroused, drinking helps, then I need a few days to bring me back down.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It wasn't an outlaw night per say because it was a saturday. But my evenings are off and my nights too. I need to shelter and rest peacefully with little to do. Like writing about this in a blog, listening to the rain tapping on my window, a sound which I adore.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Good things coming forth:&lt;br /&gt;
Meeting a new friend for the trip in... 3 weeks!&lt;br /&gt;
Taking my oldest friend to the food fair on Saturday&lt;br /&gt;
My workplace and my workmates every day&lt;br /&gt;
Dinner with other long lost friends on Friday&lt;br /&gt;
Poker night on Thursday&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's uncanny how many friends popup around me since I left my ex. I didn't think that I could count on so many. My only wish, if I may, is that I would have more guy friends. I would like to learn a little more about their species. Poker night will be with boys, work boys, so goods candidates for friendships perhaps.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Life is like a box of chocolate, you know?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Luvx.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-3302037568168024665?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/bpkKz1wcVhM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/3302037568168024665/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=3302037568168024665" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/3302037568168024665?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/3302037568168024665?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/bpkKz1wcVhM/taps.html" title="Taps" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/09/taps.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkcMQXs8fyp7ImA9WhdWGEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-2788641007966275699</id><published>2011-09-12T18:54:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-12T18:54:40.577-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-12T18:54:40.577-04:00</app:edited><title>Damn a-living</title><content type="html">Well, a man found me and I finally got kissed, very well kissed, finally. The sad thing is Man, that he's not calling back and it's not me, it's him. He's married I'd say. The sooner I forget the better. But Man, that felt really sweet and now I'm really itching for it. Damn is the word indeed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I used to feel very differently about these things. I won't delve into it but it's a lot lighter than it used to be. I once was told to stop making things so scorchingly personal, hehe. So I'm not but Man, could you please show up so that I can skip all those things and move onto you? I'm not a teenager anymore you know.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There is still a lot happening at work but I am prepared, or zen, or still into last week-end. But I have to tell you something that is more meaningful than all that. I went on a picnic at my sister's who lives in a country with acres of land. It was a superb day with family and food and kids and dogs, 4 of those. And when I gave her my hand knit hot-water-bottle-cosy (don't laugh!, read what follows), she beamed. I was sewing up on location as it happens, and when she saw it she fell quite literally in love with it. Man, I would knit one for you too if you would like.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I didn't have the time to take a picture. It's one of those gifts. Perfect.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I guess that I'm not shy to say Perfect sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
For tonight I have a wish, which is to calm my mind and body down. Bath, book, dishes. Tomorrow there will be yoga and perhaps I should cycle. Perhaps I will plan my meals. Sending you all a great shout out of love cause we are a-living.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amourx.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-2788641007966275699?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/kmuRnJ0-DoQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/2788641007966275699/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=2788641007966275699" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/2788641007966275699?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/2788641007966275699?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/kmuRnJ0-DoQ/damn-living.html" title="Damn a-living" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/09/damn-living.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkYMSXw-eSp7ImA9WhdWFks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-7038212119131193716</id><published>2011-09-10T11:17:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-10T11:23:08.251-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-10T11:23:08.251-04:00</app:edited><title>Hash up</title><content type="html">I am on the lovely terrasse café that I always go to on a lovely sunny Saturday morning. Bless this day Man.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Many things to record today. Weight is down 2 pounds and fat % is up 1 or 2 %. This week I ate less, drank no water to speak of and didn't exercise -- sprained foot you see. It all makes very logical sense and I'm feeling in tune. Perky mood is brought to you today by striped tank top and new deep blue jeans. Oh and jade bangle bracelet noticed by all the girls and no Man. Yeah I'm a tall strong and lank girl and catch me if you can.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There is also this way of being with people but without people in the café. Out and about, me at my best, with the human proximity that I resist to take in sometimes. A low risk, high returns situation. And &amp;nbsp;Led Zeppelin on the radio oh babe I need to download some of this and listen to it all day into the night.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Measurements are all a bit down from last week. Tee hee.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This week I've been thrown in a few social situations and they where meaningful (did I tell you that this is what I strive for in general, that moments get meaningful?). Style night at a restaurant and I made the assembly laugh with my spur of the moment presentation of myself. This is a very good 'check' for me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then a whole day of travelling to Quebec city on a pitch with two senior vps. Imagine a three hour car ride in the wee hours of the morning. A two hour presentation in which I spoke. One quick presentation of who I am and didn't bank on what I needed to say. One pretty good moment of presentation of the strategy for an interactive program. This is a good 'check' for me. A double check. There where several very important people in that room. And one fairly bad moment when I interrupted and then stumbled completely, went blank, misspoke. This got noticed by everyone, most specially my bosses I know, but no one held it against me at all. I was a secondary support in this pitch.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Then a two hour lunch, then three more hours of a drive back. Not one single moment alone. Talk about high exposure. I was very happy to be part of the day, but it's safe to say that it was hard on my nerves at the end of the day. And I ressass the bad and the ugly soo much. I'm still very much a weary, frightened girl somewhere inside. It takes time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Onwards. Tonight a night of dancing wee-hee! This is another kind of exposure but one I can handle well. Tomorrow a birthday for which I need to knit a sock in record time. I will do a bike ride for low-impact exercise and train once this week-end. I will do food and home.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Man, if you want to pop up this week-end I will try to be on the look out.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amourx.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-7038212119131193716?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/0V_qJrbHKdQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/7038212119131193716/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=7038212119131193716" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/7038212119131193716?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/7038212119131193716?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/0V_qJrbHKdQ/hash-up.html" title="Hash up" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/09/hash-up.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkcDQXc8eyp7ImA9WhdWE0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-2419319405338935018</id><published>2011-09-06T21:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-06T21:47:50.973-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-06T21:47:50.973-04:00</app:edited><title>Withstanding Chaos</title><content type="html">What I find very satisfying in my new eating habits, that is to eat food that I cook and track and nutritionally balance myself, is when every parcel of food down to the last grain of rice, or the last branches of a way-too-humoungous broccoli stalk, all of the home made chicken stew or refried potatoes get eaten. I especially love how they incorporate in many different, newly imagined, spur of the moment recipes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I guess that I am not shy to say that I am a fairly good, intuitive and imaginative cook. My favourite kitchen moments tend to be when I make something ingenious or unexpected, or just specially delicious, out of the 5 ingredients that happen to be in the fridge. If I manage to do that and process the food without waist, then I am a very content girl. Quite happy, quite satisfied indeed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don't stock up a lot of food, it helps to keep things fresh and interesting to fit my mood. Todays menu turned out to be chicken breast stuffed with procciuto (I can't spell that), marinated peppers and cheese, then covered with the peppers, baked in the oven and all covered by tomato sauce half way through because I thought it would dry up if I didn't.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Man, that was good. But I also enjoyed the plain rice cooked in not-home-made chicken broth and steamed broccoli that was a good 10 days old and losing it's colour. I had that while I was waiting for the chicken to cook and Man, that was good too.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm thinking of referring to Man every now and then, addressing him. Not in the way some teenagers put it everywhere (or at least I used it all the time, to talk to girls or guys, I called them all Man at some point or I just said 'Man' as a general expression followed by a sigh). No, I will say Man in the same way, but I will be talking to a Man. A specific Man. Like you, perhaps. Is that all right Man? Do let me know.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So Man, the thing I enjoyed at least as much as eating this meal, was that I had cooked everything right and made a little creation out of it and nothing was waisted and nothing was unpleasantly eaten because I had to. And the leftovers are all packed into containers that where waiting neatly stacked in my two lone orderly shelfs (all others are kept in precarious but withstanding chaos), so I have tomorrow lunch time sorted.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There is something very pleasant about this simplicity. It packs up whirlwinds of creativity and sensorial essays into my mouth, my body, then neat containers for the morrow. And all of the essence of food is kept, tested, studied and used. And the palate says thank you and when can we do this again.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I need to say a few things of my day now. It is the second night that I have insomnia quite severely from 3 a.m. onwards, so my return to work was a bit muddled. However I felt particularly calm and clear while I was going through the motions. And in the morning I triggered a pretty enlightening conversation with one of the senior partners. It turns out that we have a similar worldview and interests, and I don't know how I was so pristinely articulate and focused while we talked, but I was. After our talk I sent him a reference link and not only did he knew and appreciated the author, but it ended with a citation that he's been using in his presentations of our company for the last two years. Syncronicity stuff, Man.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's been good, and now I rest.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amourx.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-2419319405338935018?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/qZt9fOY15xA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/2419319405338935018/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=2419319405338935018" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/2419319405338935018?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/2419319405338935018?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/qZt9fOY15xA/withstanding-chaos.html" title="Withstanding Chaos" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/09/withstanding-chaos.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUcBQH08cSp7ImA9WhdWEUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-326974799610372404</id><published>2011-09-04T12:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-04T12:17:31.379-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-04T12:17:31.379-04:00</app:edited><title>Day Three</title><content type="html">I spoke about my soirée, but not about my weigh-in. It went up, I weigh more (some 2 pounds), and I know why. However, this time I am also tracking my fat percentage and body measurements and luckily those are going steadily down. That is a relief, and I will continue to chart those as I progress.&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
My body definitely wants to be bigger, but I want it to be stronger. We will have a nice long talk and many walks.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
I went shopping for clothes yesterday, and I was lucky to find two pair of jeans, a lovely cardigan, and two tanks on good sales! I paid 150$ for the lot. And the jeans are DKNY and Mavi, good brands. I wasn't looking for sales, I wanted to feel better and find nice fitting clothes for the night and for the fall. I barely looked and found all I needed. And at the last shop&amp;nbsp;I also picked up a 3 inch wide green bangle-style bracelet circled in gold, for 20$.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
I went on my third run and sadly, I don't think that I will be able to take up running right away. My legs aren't exactly the same length and I wear compensating insoles when I wear shoes (so in summer, I don't wear them much even if I should). Strong pain in my right hip triggered the diagnostic and the insoles seemed to do the trick - no more pain in my hip in my regular day to day walk.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
But during the last run my hip was in such pain that I couldn't run the last two intervals and could barely walk straight. I'm still inflamed now but it is easing out slowly. For a good 24 hours thought it was a bit incapacitating. My physio had advised me back then to avoid impact sports on my leg. That is such a bummer!&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
I will have to cycle and cross-country ski and find an elliptical. The two former are super fun but they take some setting up. The elliptical is ok in bad climate, but I will have to figure out where to do that.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
The other part of my plan is to get muscled up in my legs. I have noticed that my balance is poor yoga and that it had a lot to do with weak muscles. The body needs structure to hold everything up. In the same way I think that a more muscular body would hold my limbs in better place when I run, and that with my insoles maybe I wouldn't get any friction in the hip socket.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
I'm feeling all right. Happy to have a long week-end.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
Amourx.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-326974799610372404?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/dPKCAp-tbgU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/326974799610372404/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=326974799610372404" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/326974799610372404?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/326974799610372404?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/dPKCAp-tbgU/day-three.html" title="Day Three" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/09/day-three.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkABRHw-fyp7ImA9WhdWEUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-2989388248868844377</id><published>2011-09-04T01:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-04T01:39:15.257-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-04T01:39:15.257-04:00</app:edited><title>2 Points</title><content type="html">Bon. J'arrive d'une fête où on devait mettre un coeur si on est célibataire et je l'ai fait. Ah c'était tatouage aussi et alors j'en ai trouvé des jolis. Un sur un sein (ben mon chest ou en haut des sein là, c'est quoi? mais bon il tombe sur mon sein. et un sur mon bras. deux dragons qui se regardent avec un petit coeur pour chacun d'eux fait main, assez discret).&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Contente d'y être allée et me suis bien amusée mais mais? Ben rien, justement. J'ai aimé la radio dans l'auto, white wedding au retour. Nirvana à l'allée. Trop bon. Je me suis débrouillée dans le social. Et donc j'ai des nuances à apporter peut-être.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Il n'y avait pas de coup de coeur. J'ai regardé. J'ai socialisé. J'ai du mal à reconnaître sur le vif les possibilités. Mais quand même je crois que cette fois j'ai bien saisie l'ensemble puisque c'était assez petit et contenu. La suite je l'écris juste pour me rappeler de garder le moral, pour nuancer. Je vous averti ça va être inventorial.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Un homme m'a arrêté sur mon nom. D'où sa vient, comment ça s'écrit, et comble... "moi mon prénom je l'écris jamais avec un accent aiguë". Weird. Ensuite je me suis mis dans un coin et ai parlé comme il faut à 2 personnes, dont un que j'ai fini par me désintéressé. Il ne m'avait pas particulièrement intéressées d'emblée, mais j'essayais, mais non.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Enfin finalement j'en ai vu un cute. Petit, mais rendu là, ça allait. Alors j'ai réussi à le détourner d'une conversation avec un autre type (1 point). J'ai réussi à avoir une conversation avec lui et il a changé de langue (point no.2), et... malgré mon intérêt soutenu après un bout, j'eut besoin de respirer un peu et je suis partie prendre mon verre à l'intérieur. Bête de même. J'ai pas vraiment senti rien de sa part qui me retenait. Pis, j'suis rentrée chez moi mais je suis bien certaine que je n'ai pas loupé quelqu'un là-bas. Bon.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Une fille pourrait se sentir découragée mais faut pas penser comme ça. Faut penser que je sors à peine de mon cocon, à peine. Une petite patte dehors pour tester l'eau. Et que dans toute l'expérience il n'y a pas eu de rejet. J'ai même été vue. J'ai même fait des efforts. Et rien ne m'est arrivée de mal. Alors, bella. Bonne nuit? D'accord. C'est un petit pas pour la Kat, un grand pas pour l'humanité.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Amourx.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-2989388248868844377?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/MZo0plhK6Vg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/2989388248868844377/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=2989388248868844377" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/2989388248868844377?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/2989388248868844377?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/MZo0plhK6Vg/2-points.html" title="2 Points" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/09/2-points.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUNRXg9fSp7ImA9WhdXGEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-1988326345365996988</id><published>2011-09-01T07:56:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-01T07:58:14.665-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-01T07:58:14.665-04:00</app:edited><title>About Cracks</title><content type="html">A little status. I felt depressed yesterday night. Nothing too heavy but I want to record it. I think that I threw in a good days work, then I went home and moved very little. I had the option to run or knit or watch a movie and I didn't. I read some and fell asleep early.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Remember that song that cracked my heart in the morning? The line is fine for me between being inspired to feel love and being hurt from the feeling of loss (or something like that). I think that I crossed that line, and the song which is really a heartbreaking song of mourning, pushed me there. Cracks are unpredictable in nature, but I still welcome them, consequence and all, as long as it doesn't happen too fast. I just happened to remember love and even desire.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Friends, I think that I have enough material to make my own freaking therapy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So, there was that. There was changing my lunch plans and running for a sandwich. And the most tangible stressor for me was forcing myself in the uber teflon team. It's a tough time for me doing that, but I should give myself props for doing it like good little robot.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I think that I may have spent too many days alone. Going to Turkey is a stressor too. And I did have my inner voice of nagging doom throwing stuff at me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Alright, onwards. I have an open day today. A lunch to talk about Turkey with a girl that I am interested to know at work. I hope to make the work day meaningful and have good breaks. Tonight I would go for a 40 min. run/walk... maybe straight after work i'm thinking. And I have my weight training at home. Friday is open. Saturday I have a Party and from then on september has filled up with lots of social stuff. I don't know if my wee heart will open enough to see and seize the opportunity. Food for thought.

Amourx.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-1988326345365996988?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/pfVOBgYu0oc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/1988326345365996988/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=1988326345365996988" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/1988326345365996988?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/1988326345365996988?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/pfVOBgYu0oc/about-cracks.html" title="About Cracks" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/09/about-cracks.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEAAQXw8fCp7ImA9WhdXF0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064881369502635330.post-976680751038455840</id><published>2011-08-31T08:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-31T08:12:20.274-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-31T08:12:20.274-04:00</app:edited><title>Oh Yes!</title><content type="html">Cette chanson me donne le goût de retomber en amour. Elle réveille le dragon qui dort. Si l'étranger est prêt à me trouver, ça sera épique. J'espère savoir le reconnaître, j'espère savoir l'accueillir, j'espère. C'est sur le cd merveilleux de Maggie Bjorklund. Amourx.
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;Je crois que c'est une chanson de deuil et de cette façon elle me brise le coeur. C'est souvent des chansons de regret qui pour moi  deviennent des chansons d'espoir. J'ai jamais dis que j'étais simple. Si j'avais à l'expliquer je dirais que ça viens chercher mon subconscient, ma vie antérieure ou je ne sais trop, un vieux sentiment d'enfance peut-être. Ou tout ceux que j'ai aimé. Mais c'est définitivement un sentiment annonciateur.
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;Intertwined
&lt;br /&gt;Christy McWilson
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;dream dream and keep dreaming
&lt;br /&gt;you never know
&lt;br /&gt;somewhere in time
&lt;br /&gt;there’s a place we’ll go
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;two kites in the heavens 
&lt;br /&gt;our hearts intertwined
&lt;br /&gt;floating along
&lt;br /&gt;somewhere in time
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;sleep with the angels
&lt;br /&gt;and sing with the sea
&lt;br /&gt;sleep with the wind 
&lt;br /&gt;and i’ll hear you singing to me
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;i’ll climb that mountain again
&lt;br /&gt;if i had the power
&lt;br /&gt;to reel you back in
&lt;br /&gt;i’d cast off these hours
&lt;br /&gt;that never end
&lt;br /&gt;but i’m on the shoreline
&lt;br /&gt;so i pretend
&lt;br /&gt;dream dream and keep dreaming
&lt;br /&gt;if you never knew
&lt;br /&gt;how deep is love
&lt;br /&gt;i know now you do
&lt;br /&gt;dream dream and keep dreaming
&lt;br /&gt;i’m dreaming too
&lt;br /&gt;somewhere in time 
&lt;br /&gt;i’ll be with you
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;sleep with the angels
&lt;br /&gt;and sing with the sea
&lt;br /&gt;sleep with the wind
&lt;br /&gt;and i’ll hear you singing to me
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;i’d climb that mountain again
&lt;br /&gt;if i had the power 
&lt;br /&gt;to reel you back in
&lt;br /&gt;i’d cast off these hours 
&lt;br /&gt;that never end
&lt;br /&gt;but i’m on the shoreline
&lt;br /&gt;so i pretend
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1064881369502635330-976680751038455840?l=descentes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~4/9-NoPSoBhLs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://descentes.blogspot.com/feeds/976680751038455840/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1064881369502635330&amp;postID=976680751038455840" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/976680751038455840?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1064881369502635330/posts/default/976680751038455840?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/FBOUw/~3/9-NoPSoBhLs/oh-yes.html" title="Oh Yes!" /><author><name>Girl in a Throttle</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://descentes.blogspot.com/2011/08/oh-yes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

