Where Does The Time Go?

So I looked at my clock last night and it was 12:15, and I thought, where did the night go? After eating dinner at the kitchen table (yay!), Melissa taught me how to knit (and purl, too, if you must know, and how to switch colors). Then I called Mom. Two hours later… (Yeah, there was a great deal of conversation about knitting, cats, Alison’s impression of the boy, parties, neighbors, and updates on kids I was in youth group with. No obituary news, though. Wow, just reporting that we talked about knitting and cats makes me feel like an 80 year-old woman. I’ve got to call the home and check in now… they worry if I’m gone for too long.)

(If you look really closely, you can see where I messed up. So don’t look closely.)

Then I practiced more knitting (don’t want to forget, which is entirely possible), attempted several Sudoku puzzles (ten pages into the book, four have completely stumped me, to the point of having to erase completely and start over, and sometimes two or three times – at least I completed one last night, or I would have had nightmares). And then it was 12:15 somehow, and I hadn’t even picked up Pride and Prejudice. So I only got into the first two chapters (I’d forgotten how… annoying Mr. Bennet is in the beginning of the book – I’m hoping that the second time around I’ll understand his character a bit more) before needing to be asleep.

Snow on the ground this morning. I would have taken a picture, but I didn’t think of it until I was already at the bus stop and there were other people there, and I thought they might find it odd if I pulled out my camera and took a picture of the sidewalk.

2 Replies to “Where Does The Time Go?”

  1. We didn’t actually discuss obituary news. It’s just that usually she brings up some tidbit of information about someone I went to school with, and the update is from an obituary she read. My mom’s been reading the obituaries for years now – I don’t know when she started thinking this was a good idea. Personally, I don’t want to read the obits on a regular basis until I’m close to death myself. Or at least post-retirement.

    Note to all: I do not actually discuss “obituary news.” (Unless of course it’s news I want to tell someone that my mother’s told me and she got it from the obits, but usually then it’s actually to complain about something my mother thought I’d think was important, like how an old nemesis was “still single” also. Thanks, Ma.)

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