My Pompeya

My Pompeya I know exactly what I was doing when he was bo, why? S still unfinished, as I left. My private was cleaning my office Pompei.I. Cleanliness is not, in fact. To my way of organizing the things I discovered about the variety of this and that, in recent years and the sense to spend a few minutes to visit, and looked just in time to see the last light in the room on tiptoe, then the wings all day long series of spot.Everywhere are a lot of ideas. Some who have left me, and I left. Diagrams and drawings, clever titles, opening lines, unresolved poetry manuscript centers or ends without principles. A writer? S Birth children.An old contacts. People and places that do not remember or unpublished forget.A sympathy card. Simon & Garfunkle scores. Daddy.My a note of its weight is around the coer with my step bench, half on each side, with a box of things to hold, for reasons that can not explain. A set of bamboo wind, an old sketch pad, a cone of vanilla incense and a mini stapler. A single set of garden. Brown strings are still in the pack, caught with a pin in the shape of acute clef.Now you? You are here, and you are my big. You are my this and that. You are my ideas and my address and my reasons and I hope you do not have time to clean the office for at least the next eighteen years.Sally rod - Writer / Sales TrainerSally Bacchetta is an award-winning freelance writer and mother. He has published articles on a variety of topics including parents, RFID, selling skills, motivation, and pharmaceutical sales.You can contact you sb14580@yahoo.com and read his latest thoughts on motherhood in New Sally Mom Blog.