Time goes quickly when I nap.
Being tired takes time.
Time goes quckly when I write.
Correcting the typos takes time.
Cooking takes time.
And it’s tiring.
Yesterday is gone.
Now I have to say something today.
It will take time.
january 24
January 24 was my mother’s birthday. She was 82 when she died. That’s a nice age. She would never have lived to be one hundred and twenty-four years old.
Things keep happening.