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I tagged you, you tagg me, we tagguons ...

Well, well, since apparently I was "tagged", a concept that remains vague for me, it is my understanding that I should express 3 pleasures of my life.

Good and well start with one of my pleasures as I sated this morning then, and saw nothing at all insinuating in there.

In the beginning Paris was : Me walk early in the morning in a Paris bathed in sunlight. Go through the Georges Brassens park down the street and take a Velib scaup. See awaken the fishmongers, bakers and butchers, and see that life is much more developed area in Paris as one might think.

Dumas is never far : Lying on a bed and cover 3,000 pages of Musketeers with a light background music while sipping a glass of Coke.

The future belongs to Spin Doctors : Agree an afternoon just to watch the umpteenth time episodes of Spin City and enjoy the class, the enthusiasm, intelligence Michael Flaherty, aka Mickael J. Fox.

And good as I am obliged to tagg somebody, I tagged Anna ^ ^.

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No I have not forgotten ...

I do not know if this is the approach of the twenties, or maybe the end of my secondary school years, but for almost six months, a kind of nostalgia that is installed in me. For proof, since I listen Aznavour. But this is paradoxical with my strong desire to leave my home, to emancipate me, to grow.

Recently, a wave of new members born in the 90s arrived on IP. They are 93, 94, 95 or 99 as I could see I did not feel to belong to their generations. I am of the generation revolution, one that looked Dragon Ball Z Pokemon instead. The one that was playing Pogs or Jojos and not Yu-Gi-Oh. From that danced the macarena or not the Tecktonic mia. From that seen France champion World Cup ... All these benchmarks and comparisons will undoubtedly seem pathetic, and yet these are my memories.

And I felt almost afraid of the idea losing them. Trying too hard to immerse myself in the future I'm afraid to drown my past. To lose one part of my identity, losing my roots. I always found it con and has-been people talking about their roots, and yet I understand them.

who could have known that someday I would come to regret the time spent? Not that I would take pity on my sadness, but almost.

Finally, we see much more time that passes the end of a school year at the end of one year time. The years do not end December 31, but June 31