fuzzy

It was a quiet day, tagged onto a quiet morning. Breakfast was two slices of toast and  some marmalade, nothing else was required. There had been a very good fish last night, a very salty fish. There were three bottles of beer to go with it, perhaps that was two bottles too many. But it was a pleasant evening ihon the studio. Spent some time sharpening the artist's chisels. It is strange how a person incapable of carving can sharpen chisels better than somebody who carves really well. Leave before midnight and spent some time in the shop before going upstairs to bed.

Forgot to take the pills in the morning, took them a little bit later. Spent the day resting, and the early evening ironing shirts.

The shirts were forgotten in winter, and in the meantime have done their best to form permanent creases.

The detail of the day have become lost and have gone fuzzy in the mind, there were so many actions done today that were done on other days too that all these days have become difficult to hold apart.

This morning there was pleasure that the water from the defrosting of the small refrigerator had not overflowed the small tray designed to catch this water. The pleasure changed to annoyance when the contents of the tray poured out onto the floor anyway as a result of trying to remove it.

Packed a small part of the clothes and things for Monday, so as to speak in preparation. It is not a big expedition, but it will go on for a considerable time.

Now it is time for the evening news.

And after the news there is the sound of drunken revelry in the street, many people talking with very loud voices, women shouting and nearly screaming with excitement. Tomorrow will be the last day of the fair to Saint Bartholomew.