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07/31/2018
Meggi
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Meggi
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Also misunderstood
When I hear "indigo," I think of the so-called "indigo kids." Some esotericists believe in the existence of unusual children, who in a way point the way to a higher level of existence for humanity, or something similar, and who therefore seem to us normals slightly peculiar at times. Unadjusted, stubborn, cranky, distant, solitary. But they can also be sensitive, creative, restless, sociable and whatnot.
Huh - what now? Well, there's got to be something for everyone. After all, it is probably essentially a spiritual side branch of the performance deficit justification caravan, with which the helicopter parents over the years have gradually drawn the subject of false handedness from dyslexia/LRS to ADHD, if necessary including some food intolerances - all to the detriment of those who really have to struggle with such things. My wife is a teacher who has followed this journey.
We return to my first thought, now to the fragrance: peach. Or apricot. Including an almost leathery-sour earthiness. Caraway, when you know it, is amazingly plausible. Later, a vague florality, said with caution, supports the Osmanthus assertion.
That doesn't just sound weird, it smells like it. The problem is therefore aptly outlined in Bellemorte's statement: The parts may not fit together. That doesn't fit together any more than the poor indigo children do in the evil today. Therefore, I am not unhappy that the sillage-like lame little dip retreats towards noon to a kind of superficial apricot fragment on the skin.
There, however, in a small way, with only a short distance and not even noticeable anymore, something is definitely going on: A touch of a cool fruit-juice-drink freshness (Iris!)) is reminiscent of watery sorbet, alternatively the rest of the sucked-out water ice from these elongated bags, but at the same time the fruit sometimes has thickened-dry-obstige moments grotesquely reinforced by caraway, while the overall...smell loses itself in the course of the afternoon (surprisingly un-creamy considering the indications) in a diffuse woody-spicy floral-fruit hint.
Conclusion: Apparently a real indigo scent - at least I don't understand it.
I'd like to thank the robins for rehearsing.
Huh - what now? Well, there's got to be something for everyone. After all, it is probably essentially a spiritual side branch of the performance deficit justification caravan, with which the helicopter parents over the years have gradually drawn the subject of false handedness from dyslexia/LRS to ADHD, if necessary including some food intolerances - all to the detriment of those who really have to struggle with such things. My wife is a teacher who has followed this journey.
We return to my first thought, now to the fragrance: peach. Or apricot. Including an almost leathery-sour earthiness. Caraway, when you know it, is amazingly plausible. Later, a vague florality, said with caution, supports the Osmanthus assertion.
That doesn't just sound weird, it smells like it. The problem is therefore aptly outlined in Bellemorte's statement: The parts may not fit together. That doesn't fit together any more than the poor indigo children do in the evil today. Therefore, I am not unhappy that the sillage-like lame little dip retreats towards noon to a kind of superficial apricot fragment on the skin.
There, however, in a small way, with only a short distance and not even noticeable anymore, something is definitely going on: A touch of a cool fruit-juice-drink freshness (Iris!)) is reminiscent of watery sorbet, alternatively the rest of the sucked-out water ice from these elongated bags, but at the same time the fruit sometimes has thickened-dry-obstige moments grotesquely reinforced by caraway, while the overall...smell loses itself in the course of the afternoon (surprisingly un-creamy considering the indications) in a diffuse woody-spicy floral-fruit hint.
Conclusion: Apparently a real indigo scent - at least I don't understand it.
I'd like to thank the robins for rehearsing.
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