What Are Acceptable Bileruben Levels

There are times when we get tired of seeing our house every single day as well. It is then that we decided to do renovations. These renovations can be as simple as changing the furniture around, but include, without being an exclusive list, paint, rearrange the furniture, change the house.

I think the change is part of human nature. We got tired of that which remains constant over a long period of time. So, we changed and at the same time changed everything around. So much so that rush ever use the verse, "Nothing is permanent, But change is."

All this introduction is due to changes which recently premiered in this blog. I can cite the lack of a change as one of the reasons that have kept this blog dying for so long, but not the only one. The death of many of the blogs that he used to read. TOL death was another major thrust, and left many of his followers without a list in which hundreds of authors wanted to keep his title of being the last update. TOL not only led the list but neither community nor blog posts Colombia galaxy have been able to recreate.

Well, with a new image I hope to help revive this blog. The change is aimed not only to readers, the change is for me to enjoy this place often go through and do not forget the update. So if things are as planned, there will be more words from me around here. So you soon

Stomach Bloating With Mono

Here and back again Fall Colors

I leave my building where I live to be greeted by a strong current of cold air, which makes a 31 degrees a couple of days are so only a vague recollection of the past. As I meditate in the cold today and yesterday's heat I approach the bridge, the bridge from which I can not help, as I have never done it before, look at the train station.

This station has become a magical place, a building that mesmerizes me every time I am somewhere that allows me to see him in all his majesty, and makes me dream with thousands of destinations that could be achieved in each of its visitors meandering electric and steam. Today the station dressed in orange reflect its hundreds of windows, reflection caused by the dying sun hidden behind my back. On the season draws a large white moon framed in a blue sky at times gives the illusion of being more purple than blue. A cloudless sky, no stars to give the impression of not being more than a box whose author forgot to finish.

I soon realize I left the field of view of the train station and turn my ateción to my way south. Suddenly I found myself in front of a picture where a green, still dominant in the scene, fighting unsuccessfully against the yellow, orange and red that will soon dominate the stage. As I reflect on those images that fill my memory now conclude that, as I was warned several times before, fall is the season of poetry.