Although you can not believe this is a beautiful corner of our Reference Library. It was the fourth of J., who went to live alone, and then Alonso, the iguana, which actually uses it very little. His routine here is as follows:
8 am. Waking up in the top shelf of the library with ortho side more or less pronounced depending on the weather (if it is sunny just a grumpy face, if it rains, a frank face ass).
8:30 a.m.. Climbing through the green curtain hooks ripping and tearing in his fall a few threads.
9 am. Vegetarian eating your herd and then distribute and crush a few strawberries or plums off the plate, on the floor.
9.30am. Walking as a pensioner in a hurry to the bathroom wearing a towel and a roll of toilet paper.
10 am. Shit on the bathroom floor which would be morphologically a pigeon poop and quantitatively an eagle.
10:05 a.m.. Poultry sector go to the balcony, closed with an elegant black network. Sunbathing, crush the plants, eat the leaves and branches and distribute soil around the pots.
12 am. Back to the top shelf for a nap.
4 pm. Sliding down back down the green curtain.
4.15 pm. Eat the second serving of vegetables and fruit back to crush some strong pigment difficult to clean above ground and part of the walls.
5 pm. Back to the top shelf for the last time in the day to sleep until the next morning.
Beyond these incursions on our Library unsightly, everything was relatively calm during these years. We have here a Japanese futon where I like to lie down to read, an air conditioner that goes well and some paintings that I like. But in recent months or less when the population explosion began in our family, all children that had been started to bring old objects and place them right there, behind the head of the futon. I think it is a disguised regression, a return to the house directly, but mediated by waste reports. The excuses to leave here are the most varied: old-fashioned clothing or outgrown them or they have left big shoes with the soles broken necklaces to unravel, a faux crocodile bag mysterious content, unbind "books, clothes summer winter and summer in winter, bags full of old papers one day have to order clothes that no longer goes to the first baby and is on consignment for the next, dented pots to be carried to PDR, desilvered sources to be carrying plater, broken glass boxes that are in transit to the marquero and stuff. Which greatly increased the volume of scrap metal is deposited V. imminent removal, the last baby, which leaves us the empty nest. His friends and relatives set up a kind of Caritas emergency with lags of china and furniture, and that is was adding to the many objects that I have repeated or she likes and that he was giving. Within a week he moved and carried their belongings and will only be those of the other two.
I shot but read as always makes me nervous to know that just there, six inches of my head are a pair of boots dirty on a box with cutlery and a bag of greasy wool sweaters moth-eaten. This they call the empty nest? That's why the older people feel so affected when their kids go home?
