December 15
This night's dream was a slow zoom-in to
vast emptiness in a colossal military tent of slowly quaking smeared walls, no action at all just the scrolling close-up of the greenish sagged-in tarpaulin walls until...
shellbursts of a bombardment brought me back to the reality inside our room as dark as the thunder or even blacker.
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 becomes two-year-old.
In the evening, a tin tub was placed in the middle of our one-but-spacious room for the kids to bathe in turn. Soaping their sides, Sahtik remarked pensively that the simplest and most routine things seem weirdly odd amid the war raging around.
I concurred, admitting that some TV programs do seem absurd to me when it shells outdoors.
Seems as my back starts to behave, I decided to resume my yoga exercises. Some asanas—even after such a pause—remained as feasible as they used to be.
It's half past nine pm. The family went to the Underground, but my mother-in-law is to come back for bread baking.
Uproar of dogged shooting out surges up in Krkjan.
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