February 19

By Sahtik's calculations, three years ago this night we married. So, it was our wedding night celebration lit by the full moon light flooding in through the three immensely wide windows to mingle with the glimmer of a flickering candle.

Having a loose tooth dangling all over your mouth curbs an over-ardent voluptuousness all right, and yet it was a good night.

And with her gorgeous bottom and mature bosom contrasting to her maidenish arms and incredulously tiny hands Sahtik does look lovely when naked.

In the morning nobody attended the Club, obviously kept away by the detonation of consecutive GRAD volleys.

(...some mighty thing this GRAD is, faith, a real masterpiece of human genius...)

This time I didn't switch on chanting of the Maha-Mantra. My mind got stuck in the chewing gum of Azimov's novel while the walls leaped from the nearby explosions and the pane glasses were breaking up and coming down to the floor with dismal high-pitched tinkle. Rendering midst explosions doesn't mean braveness; I do it just because I have nothing else to do.

The Club's lavatory window was also smashed, however, the whitely icicled (or rather mildew crusted) spiders were still hanging from the ceiling.

Leaving at noon, I observed the hillock of masonry stones where it was the TV Studio Block swept away while I was idling in the Club. Grad bursts leave after themselves a sticky stink of burned rubber in the air.

Up-till-now unchecked fires are on in the town under the missile attacks being repeated over and over again.

After the lonesome lunch, one page from Joyce. Then, I took up reading of The Arabian Nights in Armenian to tone up my command of the language.

Yoga. Supper.

A water-walk's ahead. (Just for the fitness' sake, right now there is no actual need of water in the household.)

Good night.