Happy people do not write complete, clear to me, and my best friend has stressed me a long time. The beautiful people, families with framed photos of their trips in their expensive rooms, the entrepreneurs whose moment of his life is worth much, the breast knitting, the artists who have photo shoots, young married women who are buying things to decorate your new home in the Pedregal They do not write. But today I'm not sure that is for a complete and perfect happiness (it is now I dare to question). They might not write because they do not want, period. Or because they know they can do, or because they have found another way to "sweat" what they need, or rather what you do not need. But I am not one of them. And I firmly believe that the discomfort is what drives us, what gives meaning to our existence. That small or large "missing" that gives us a task, a hope, tomorrow.
Perhaps the employer more money is missing and is clearly working on it. A new lack the beautiful, the other son breast and newly that picture was married a day trip to the Polynesian Islands and could not find. Life is meaningful only when we have something to do. I have a lot to me. And perhaps that is why I love writing. Hoya today I pulled a lot of my clothes. No coupe. And I realized many things. First, the need for identity that all living beings have, it that only men can decide.
