Friday, January 7, 2011

Rs232 To Rs422 Diagram

Another step, second version

The first text did not please me not on form. Here it is corrected, imperfect but more like what I wanted it to be.
Another step

Fabienne stood outside the door. She knew her future lay just on the other side. It was a beautiful wooden door, old, who opened a breach in a stone wall dating back several centuries. Fabienne knew what was behind, without ever having crossed. She knew the history of this building and knew what to expect once she had crossed the threshold.

Fabienne was a little less than forty years. Was a brunette, who would have been great if he worries that weighed as only gave him an air packed. She seemed much older than he; frankly, it looked like an old woman exhausted, burnt out. Behind this door, there was both his salvation and his end, she could be saved, but at the same time, she knew she was lost when she entered the field.
She constantly reliving the scene of the morning had brought her here. She had to repeatedly take place in his worst nightmares, repeatedly as she had hoped. It it was hard not to be reassured knowing that the dreaded moment had finally arrived. But quitting is always complicated. Through that door, forget it was her life before, to accept another. He would forget who she was forgetting her comfort, her home, her daily; certainly, she would forget her anxieties, but also its joys morning when she woke up perky, confusing dream and reality, the threshold real life.

That morning, she received a phone call from his doctor. The latter had asked him if he could go see her, he had insisted on telling him how his visit was important and would take time to explain everything to him. Fabienne knew full well why his doctor had called. She knew the moment finally comes, inevitable: this time, she could not discard. There comes a time when the point of no return is reached. For it was this morning. The doctor rang his door half an hour later. She had time to dress and prepare a few things she had gathered in a small suitcase. And she smiled. He would to imagine being in his house, and then she could come back, through the magic of thinking. Yes, that's what she would do: imagine she was at home.
The doctor congratulated for his cooperative attitude. He explained the workflow. All he had to sit the entrance, staff were warned, a room was ready for her, she had only one ring and the host. She was to appear before 17 hours was all that mattered. Fabienne remembered having had a funny feeling when the doctor had passed the door of his small house. She felt that the gates had closed his life before her and that she had entered prison. At noon, she took her last lunch sentenced before joining his cell that would be the world until his death.
She knew intimately the doctor was right. The internment was the only alternative. Life only became too dangerous, too complicated. Yet at first it was rather funny. His hallucinations made her laugh in retrospect, at that point in the early days, she had accepted these imaginary characters as companions in his lonely life. But they had made more and more present and had become cumbersome or even dangerous. They could take any form. Human, animal, or something else. His imagination had no limits on this subject. The last time was a huge spider she continued with her rolling pin. When she was finally caught when she was on the kitchen table and she had hit her three times, she was abruptly returned to reality. The pain was called to order and she had to join his doctor urgently. He was sent to radio stations in the hospital and she ended up with his left hand in a cast for 6 weeks. She was ashamed. At the hospital, nurses who had received had asked how she had her hand crushed. She had known what to say and the nurse had suspected abuse. She asked her if she was married, if she was alone at the time of the accident ... answers confused and embarrassed by Fabienne had seemed strange to the point that it had asked the name of his doctor and a balance sheet psychological.

She was there, now, before the wooden door. Behind, she knew, was a delightful setting preserved. The vegetation was lush, the micro climate that prevailed in the small town Finisterian for acclimatization and growth of palms. The place was famous for being beautiful, unspoilt, very well restored. The gardens are visited first enclosure and attracted many people in search of calm and tranquility. The austere convent had been replaced by a modern building provided with every comfort necessary to the new destination without the primary site is denatured. The stone building had, therefore, retained its charm and its pristine beauty. The old inn, near the main entrance, once served as housing for passage of believers in the religious community and home to a retirement home now that the framework made it particularly quiet. In the private part of the former convent, behind the walls of the cloister, was now a mental hospital. Fabian knew that today his illusions disappear quickly. The drugs were going to brutalize, eliminate the hallucinations, but This also tender and humorous it was about the world around him. She was locked in his madness, aided by pills given him every night. And yet she longed to enter. She knew she would be safe. Plus she never would run behind his hand in the belief it would knock him out, it never set fire to the curtains, thinking she had installed at this location fireplace.
She grabbed the knocker, decided to knock on the door. It was 15 hours, she was on time. It was better for it go as soon as possible. If she did not now, she might change her mind, and she wanted at any price. His life became dangerous, so dangerous! Yes, she had to go.

Fabienne dropped the knocker. Renounce his freedom, his imagination, his dreams, even dangerous, it suddenly seemed unthinkable.
It was dangerous. Especially for itself. Soon, she may have lost touch with reality. But meanwhile, she did not want him stealing their dreams. She did not want pills that he would swallow.
She turned. She had her suitcase in hand, she decided on a whim not to enter and start a new life. Elsewhere. In the street if necessary.
She would disappear.
Now.

Amelie Platz, January 7, 2011

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