What Should Cm Be Like Before Af

Family history (quite boring, really)

My day began today 9 and half in the morning. After sleeping a little over an hour and wake up in the midst of thunder and lightning, I went with my father to Girona, in which college get something that had long been yearning and already I was beginning to seem as unattainable as the Holy Grail: I speak, of course, the attested copy of my bachelor's degree (in which, by the way, instead of saying "Don Nattvakten" says "Doña Nattvakten" and that it Excelsa issued Philology Faculty of the University of No Less Excelsa Oviedo!). This will allow me to finally complete the requirements needed to apply for admission to the doctorate and, moreover, plundering everything possible from grants and state officials, the Community of Madrid or the Iberian Peña my neighborhood, any source is valid. Because, as no doubt you all know, these bickering bureaucratic procedures are, as stated by Rimba that, "A Season in Hell" and even when you've already submitted all the papers, which have come to reach a thickness close to the summary of 11-M, you're not entirely sure if you've done well.

Anyway, anyway, things have gone well in the capital, the fact is that almost I can say that I was the only one in my family that has gone well the day (though not that has led to great things, if I must be honest). Shortly after leaving the campus, where my father and I felt a strange similar to the famous octopus of the garages, we headed to the suburbs in search of a lumberyard located in one of those sites where Time and life appear to be otherwise sick disturbing. Claiming an infant sleep and mood grayish these sites often awaken in me, I chose to stay in the car while my father went inside the ship with a piece of wood in his hand, which experts call "sample." In the meantime, I saw people from the most varied, being filled with garbage trucks, forklift driving faces of disgust or walking aimlessly defined, at a time poking me entertained between the discs that my father had left by the wayside in the glove and rarely leads to the player. I found several CDs of "Songs of Our Lives", in which appeared included from the Braves to The Consortium, a pair of discs pachanga, the latest in Bertin Osborne and, to crown the first "work" of David Bustamante. I am ashamed to say that was precisely what he heard my father playing on the speakers when, after half an hour, returned to the car. "Not a word to anyone, huh?" I urged him, though he, luckily, my mind was elsewhere and that is that in the store, after it all that time waiting at the counter, had told Wood had not he asked, with what had become empty handed and a gesture of disgust comparable to most of the people swarming around these dollars, and was not even shown in their hands, which I did fantasize that maybe, in an act of supreme desperation, she had head match any dependents. But it was not so, and besides, the misfortunes they had only just begun.

The next surprise (the first, actually, as the other no longer a story of the most bland I've tried to beautify my careful prose) waiting for us to get home, when we opened the garage door and an odor smelly, out of who knows what hell, we were met by: Sita, my sister's dog (careful with jokes), had fallen prey to panic about the terrible storm that had swept Sant Feliu and in the midst of the paroxysm, the leg had gone down. "The fucking shit God bitch!" Was the polite and thoughtful verdict of my father. But that was not all because, although the canine urine odor is not that much to look like a Parisian fragrance, there was not where it came from the stench, but something that my father was fortunate to find the room, carefully stacked, and made that the above expression of the leg become meaningful. A subsequent discovery followed the admonition of the can-which, given the circumstances, it was very hard, and Cicero's speech in which my father threw shit about the custom of having animals in townhouses. Soon, however, things began to calm down and we all put on our respective tasks.

Yet worse was to come. From our arrival, the storm had recurrence and in less than ten minutes, had intensified overwhelmingly. The dog could not be more scared shitless: outside seemed to resound throughout the land and be on the verge of splitting into two. Meanwhile, I meddle with the computer and my father took food, both awaited the arrival of others who had gone to Barcelona to resolve certain bureaucratic issues such (of course). And then, in one of those broke THE GREAT LIGHTNING, which was followed by loud thunder, and light the whole house, as expected, went to hell instantly. "Oh God," he said in the dark. For its hand, Sita hid under my legs, trembling and about to suffer a heart attack. But in less than two minutes, my father found the fuses and made to return the light as fast as he was gone, which I saw with relief that, contrary to what I had feared, the team and its connection to the electricity grid continued to function quite normally. "Wow," I said, unable to draft more reflective, after which I proceeded to continue my zascandileo per inmate. But horror! Internet had stopped working and so annoying, I kept the screen appear which informs us that "Unable to establish connection to the server. "Well, we do not get nervous," he said, "let's see if it works in the well of Naomi and verify if it is that I have singed the network card. And that's when happened: I hit the power button on the computer of my sister and this is not lit. appeared a red light, began to operate the fan, but neither was charged and appeared Windoze processor logo or anything, in contrast, was like in a coma, with some vital signs, but completely useless. I turned it off and turned it on, and the same. Once again, nothing changed. "Now that we've screwed up," was the final sentence.

And indeed, everything was screwed. There had to wait more than an hour to return my relatives to see what I already feared: the board had made "poof" and the computer had been disabled. "Well, okay, what a tragedy, so what?" I will say (if you still even there), "at the end of the day, it's just a crumpled junk, more was lost in the war." Yes, but that in the case of my sister, it so happens that it is not just a gizmo, but the basis of their livelihoods, their tool, where you store invoices, translation, translation memory, software (obviously Where the store would it be?) And all pods you can imagine about your profession. Finally, we can say that, at first, absolute panicked, I'm sure you now do over the situation and the flood of feelings that hung over my sister and, by extension, on my brother. I'll spare you the details (mostly because it's time to go to bed) I'll just say that, at some point, things got so tense and so beside himself that, to feeling useless gibberish that I was riding, I decided to go to my room and try to recover lost sleep. I felt, however, a very nervous before the tragic events that had provided the day-which, incidentally, had not come to Ecuador, "and when I lay on the bed, and I thought it would not be able to close the eye. I slept five hours. When I woke up, almost among cobwebs, it was dinner time and I heard my sister talk quietly on the floor below. Even took me to stretch about twenty minutes, but when he finally got to the room and met my family at the table, I heard about the outcome of the story: Thanks to a miracle, unused in such cases, the only thing burned was the motherboard and, fortunately, hard drives were in perfect condition. Should buy, yes, another computer, but after all, yes it was a problem of such material without further importance of the fair (well, I say that because I will not have to be me who disburse the eurazos 700 or 800) and would be resolved as soon as possible.

So, finally, as in an Asterix comic, ate happy, carefree and stress-free, perhaps the first time since our parents arrived and everyone enjoyed the night with family ... all but me, course, which again I had to get the bike and stand on the Overlook, to the deterioration of my brain cells and the boredom of your mind awake. I hope, however, you have enjoyed this chronicle galdosiana and not hear your snoring from my lair. As for me, I'll steal something at the bar.