Days are just keep shortening! I thought that with the added hour we would get, life would become less hectic and busy and that maybe duties would stop chasing each other’s heels and give us some time for breaths in between. But no. Fridays are short, last Fridays was even shorter. The power went out an hour before sunset, and everything had to stop. No schoolwork was to be finished, no cleaning, no cooking, nothing. I was exhausted. Last week, this week, and next week will be busy for me as I finish tests and prepare for next weeks mid terms. But Friday I had to stop, and hour early. Just stop.
Sitting on the couch, I took up a pencil and scribbled down thoughts as they came to me. Here they are, uncorrected, ungrammartized, unedited. Just my thoughts as the sun set on the Friday of 11/11/11.

today was november 11 of 2011. a friday, a day that will never be again. a date unique just like all other days, for they can only be spent. not saved, not put on hold, nothing but spent.
today father isn’t home. he’s in roraima. today sunset is early and it drizzled all morning. in the afternoon the power went out and the world was quiet here in the basement. the suns’s fleeting rays mischievously peek in every once in a while, while the wind chases its tail out there in the backyard. far away the train sounds and the road’s users make familiar noises as they drive through the puddles. i can’t blog, or study, or take a shower, but i can write. and mother can’t bake, or clean, but she can rest. and victor can’t watch, or read, but he can play with his cars.
the world seems to be paused for an instant in time. except the wind who insistently twirls in through the stove pipe. i wonder if austen wrote on days like these. this noisy pencil is all that makes noise now. those mischievous rays are making shadows jump around now as if they had been pinched. someone’s pulled up in the driveway. ah, the little elves are back again, playing with my eyelashes. their soft light is upon my bookshelf now, probably a hint i should be reading. i know.
i wonder how the english spent their 11/11/11. some people don’t find today special. others make of it a holiday. our diversity is quite amusing i think.
the laptops are both on battery power. their orange lights blinking at intervals like slow, struggling, measured breaths announcing they’re not sure for how long they can stay this way. oh my, the little elfish creatures are back in full force, they somersault on the living room carpet, each trying to out do the other in childish competitiveness. i can almost hear their delighted shouts and squeals.
they’ve grown calm and loving again. caressing my lashes and curls again. why must they be intangible? why?
it’s so quiet when i pause. i can hear myself breathe, though mother hums at times, and the sound effects victor makes as he plays sometimes escape through the slit under the door. outside, the leaves do impressive gymnastics on the green grass mats. i’ve been yawning too much lately. so much to do. so little time, energy, long-lasting motivation!
the windows are vignetted with white breath marks. i’m cold. the heater has stopped. i’m too lazy to get up to get a swater. fifty minutes ’til sunset pacific time. le blue est la couloeur de la serenite du reve. the matches and candles are out. i need chapstick. preferably cherry. victor’s hockey cards remind me of yesterday. *shudders* my feet are cold. but what’s new about that anyway? why is it that one can commence seated properly on a couch, but will always end up slouched/laying down?
i must leaves now. a cold shower awaits me. twenty minutes ’till sundown.


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