December 15.
This night dreams presented me with slow zoom-in of
vast emptiness in a colossal military tent with slowly quaking smeared walls of greenish sagged-in tarpaulin and no action at all just scrolling of the walls fiber close-up until...
shellbursts of a bombardment brought me back to the reality of our room all black as thunder.
The second day-off.
In the morning I took Ahshaut for a walk to the Main Post to send a birthday postcard to Nerses and Lydia's granddaughter who was Ahshaut's play-mate at weekend bouts of our and Larissa-Vanya's families.
Today she's two years old.
In the evening a tin tub was placed in the middle of our one-but-spacey-room flat to bathe the kids and Sahtik soaping their sides remarked pensively that the simplest and most routine things seem so weird amidst a war raging around.
I admitted that some TV programs do seem absurd to me when it shells outdoors.
With my back commencing to behave, I decided to resume my yoga exercises.
Some asanas—even after such a pause—remained as feasible poses as they used to be.
It's half past nine in the evening. The family went to Underground, but my mother-in-law is to come back for bread baking.
Uproar of dogged shooting out surges up in Krkjan.
вверх-скок