Okay, you convinced me. We put the cards on the table. With this post I throw myself in the foot, but will not do so bad.
Each of us has his sets, his obsession, his relentless army of fleas that do nothing but remind him of something that does not sleep at night.
There is someone for whom the salary is wearing at home, someone is getting rich and famous, for someone else still find the love of his life. Mr. Joe Average does not think that the hair loss, Caio being betrayed by his wife, while Harry just turn on the next sigaretta. E così ognuno di noi spende un po' di ore della propria giornata con i propri demoni.
Il mio demone, lo stendardo sotto cui il mio esercito di pulci assedia la mia coscienza? La dimostrazione che ho guardato troppa televisione (anche se sono sei anni che non la accendo), che questa cultura massiva e disumanizzante mi ha colpito in pieno, che sono proprio figlio del mio tempo malato e consumistico, fatto di ricchi sciocchi e di poveri invisibili. È difficile ammetterlo ma il mio demone è l'adipocita, la cellula lipidica, quella maledetta cellulina che ha come unica funzione il gonfiarsi e riempirsi di grasso. Embé sono uno sciocco e stupido e banale figlio degli anni '80 maledizione! Ma che ci posso fare? Ci possiamo choose deliberately to make us friends and few enemies ... but the arch enemy, the real nemesis is not the pick. It happened to me the most stupid and shameless, the daughter of showgirls, television programs, weight-loss centers and advertising of perfumes. Maybe when I was a child I would have saved a good course of physiotherapy to the real perception of their body ... for me, now, it's too late.
Smile? There is nothing to laugh about.
I'm not the great tragic obese living hurting your body. Much worse. I an enemy to fight. I'm just the annoying and unbearable 'dry' who complains of those weighing more than 500g. Yeah, that hates everyone because 'And we do not split your belly with the Maronites, who are skinny!'. What eats salad for lunch and dinner because 'no carbs after lunch and then burn them' and that each reflective surface you do not control your hair (maybe I'm a bush) or face (which is perhaps the only stained pass sugar-free jam, rusk on one of the day eaten in the morning), no. I'm the one that invariably gets in the profile and make sure you do not have miraculously fattened in the last five minutes. Manco was the immaculate conception 'is belly.
Psychosis is mine, I hold me, can you grow, sometimes we joke above, most of the time I try not to point too around my delusions of weight control, other times I am really ridiculous.
The last, fortunately, it was a private scene. But let us make a bit 'of psychoanalysis and group LET'S KNOCK on the public, so we're just on the internet!
My mother: ' Valerio, keep '
Tubone hands me a green cream. I was having lunch with her that day.
Me: 'What is ? 'muttered placidly while caterpillar salad.
My mother: 'A cream against fat ... expires in three weeks and we have removed from the shelves in pharmacies '
Needless to say, I grabbed.
the evening there I was, intention to continue my war to adipocytes. While I glued up the sides and belly I read the leaflet: Smagrel, new cream against unsightly fatty areas. Thanks to the effect of impact of concentrated caffeine conveyed through the skin, the action antistoccaggio is extremely effective. '.
good cabbage!
And down I spread. I go to bed and get ready for my healthy children and eight to nine hours of sleep.
After twenty minutes under the covers the problems begin.
A freight train of thoughts overlap in the head, at least three songs resound from ear to ear and a strange warmth comes over me from head to toe. I sweat, I turn around a bit '. I try to create a vacuum in the head, to drive the loop of music that I can not get out of my mind, to close the level crossing of the freight train. Nothing.
I also try to meditate to help but the heat that comes over me is getting stronger. I concentrate and try to understand the epicenter of the volcano that is burning me. The belly, the hips. The caffeine in cream ...
Do you believe that I was awake to curse caffeine, with staring eyes, a fit of nervous itching in the head and those damn songs for his head, until four in the morning?
A nightmare without fine.
Alle sette in piedi e via al lavoro.
Quando i miei colleghi mi hanno chiesto con il sorriso sornione: ' Dormito poco stanotte? Che hai combinato, porcellone!? '
La mia laconica risposta è stata solo: ' Troppa caffeina.. .'
Maledetti adipociti...
V.
Saturday. 10:30 am. I do not think to go live at 21 tonight. 
My surreal experiences in meters seem to end (thank goodness). Dazzled by the ideal clock and the violent neon over my face, I was clinging to a residual Brancolo sleep when I noticed a girl staring eyes of standing, not far from me. 
