Or was I driven by jealousy at that local guy interpreting for a British baroness, the supervisor of a humanitarian aid shipment?
(…the poor ignoramus could not interpret even such a term as "medical supplies" for her radio interview…)
Or else, was this dangling tooth of mine—making a problem not only of eating any meal but even of speaking—the main culprit responsible for my seeing red?
Whatever be it, control yourself, buddy.
And, like a good boy, say "Good night" to all.
December 7
No electricity all day long.
To make this entry I had to lie down on the floor and write by the light from the gas heater's furnace orifice.
Ahshaut sleeps home.
The mother-in-law has taken the oil lamp to the kitchen-aka-hall to bake bread in the gas range there. Then I will see her over to the Underground.
Good night, everybody.
December 8
No electricity. Lockout at my work place.
Carina with her children visited our place.
Valyo dropped in to take breads for his family.
One page from ULYSSES. Then I switched over to reading Montaigne's works.
Sahtik preferred to sleep home this night. The cold is stronger than the fear of missiles.
I've finished my yoga.
The mother-in-law has just stepped out for her place. When she's back we'll have an all-in family supper. Then I'll have to go out after water.
So, I wish good night to all in advance.
December 9
Philosophy also can be an in-bed activity.
Waving away my curt declaring her an excellent lover, she demanded a more deliberate definition. I tried and—lo!—having a perfect body and making skillful use of it for the purposes of the simplest game on Earth makes an excellent lover.
And then I had a blasphemous dream where
…in the dark of the open-air park cinema where I used to go as a boy I met alive V. I. Lenin and slapped him on his belly with a stick, twice…
In the morning I hit the tail of a water queue. One hour waiting to get two pails.
When I came to the Editorial House the same hugely indifferent padlock hung on the front door. I returned home and took the kids for a walk. However, on our way to the Central Park I saw the Editorial House door was open. We double backed home again.
At the work place I rendered one article. Then Wagrum told me about the three Armenians (one female) of the Karin-Tak village caught in an ambush and butchered with knives.
(…even possession of firearms cannot civilize the brute of Man…)
With the gas being supplied, the air in the town turned breathable again. A week ago all these streets were drawning in the smarting bluish haze of smoke from the innumerable woodburner pipes stuck out from each and every window and hole in basements' walls.
